


The Knife Thrower's Assistant

by thwoorple



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Campfires, Circus, F/F, Family, Homophobia, Lesbian AU, Magic, Magical Realism, Old Friends, Road Trips, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thwoorple/pseuds/thwoorple
Summary: The circus is just where she knew it would be. Behind the high school, on some open scrubland next to the playing fields. The familiar panels of brightly painted wooden fence enclose the big top, the caravans with their intricate decoration, and their vehicles. The big top is the same pink and blue stripes of the flyer and from the top fly beautiful, embroidered silk banners. They are fluttering in the breeze and the sun glints off the flagpoles. It’s bigger, more impressive than she remembers. Perhaps she’d just got used to the spectacle of it, but the people walking past look entranced. There are a group of high school students daring each other to try and look over the fence, climbing up on each other’s shoulders, and a family with a toddler who has stopped still on the sidewalk, gazing up at the flags with a look of wonder on his little face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whenyourhairisalsoahood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whenyourhairisalsoahood/gifts).



> I'm really enjoying writing this! I've got another five chapters written and I'm hoping posting is going to help me get over the hump in finishing it. 
> 
> Thanks to whenyourhairisalsoahood for all the encouragement and listening to me ramble on about this. Sorry that we're both such control freaks that collaborating was impossible!
> 
> And thanks to all the amazing writers in this fandom who have inspired me to have a go myself.

As Trixie pushes the painted door to the café open, a bell above it tinkles and the woman behind the counter turns her head, smile ready for her new customer. But as she sees who it is, she relaxes and goes back to the paperback she’s reading. It’s fair, Trixie isn’t going to be buying anything after all. She gives her a half wave and makes her way to the back of the café, to the notice board that she’s been visiting every other day. It’s big and cluttered, posters and flyers for local events and groups, yoga, a choir, art classes and, in amongst these, job advertisements and offers of work. It’s mainly babysitting, some offers of dog walking and a paper round. Trixie’s heart sinks; nothing new since Monday. She didn’t really think there would be, but something about today had made her feel more positive than usual and the disappointment feels keener somehow. 

She carefully unpins a flyer for a salsa class and moves it to a different corner of the board, revealing the pink, slightly creased one underneath. It’s hand-drawn, with an acoustic guitar in the centre and a border of flowers. “Guitar and singing lessons with professional singer songwriter, Trixie Mattel. All standards and ages welcome. Reasonable rates.” She’d made sure it was at eye level, easy to spot and not overloaded with information. It was nearly a month now since she’d pinned it to the board and she’d had no calls. 

Trixie makes one more sweep across the board and is just about to turn around and make the long walk back through the tables to the door, when she sees it. It’s unmistakable, the duck egg blue and dusty pink stripes, the curling, elaborate letters, the name: The Zamolodchikov Family Circus. 

And it’s a sign, right? What else could it be? Trixie checks the date and yes, one night only, tonight. Trixie feels trapped, like the chairs around her are closing in on her. The stripes swim a bit as she stares at the flyer and she feels dizzy. A guilty, sick feeling swirls in her stomach and she blinks, gives her head a tiny shake to stop the stripes moving in front of her eyes. She didn’t run away, and she’s got no reason to feel guilty. And it’s a travelling circus for goodness sake, it hasn’t found her. It’s just a coincidence. 

Trixie turns on her heel and walks a little too quickly back through the café, through the door and out onto the street. She’s got no-where to be, but she walks with purpose, striding along the sidewalk, putting distance between her the flyer. The sick feeling wears off after a block or so, but Trixie keeps walking. It’s almost five. Shops are closing, what traffic the tiny town gets is building up, and people are heading home. She wonders how many of them will go to the circus tonight. Now she thinks about it, it is odd that she hadn’t heard about it already. It’s a small place and news travels fast. Perhaps, she reflects sadly, it just shows how few people she’s been speaking too recently, how small her life has become. 

Hannah will be home soon. If she heads back now, she’ll just beat her. She could start dinner, finish the dishes she definitely meant to do this morning and isn’t quite sure why she didn’t. Hannah would listen if Trixie told her about the flyer. She’d talk it through with her, maybe make a list of pros and cons. But Trixie remembers the way Hannah couldn’t quite meet her eye during that excruciating conversation a few days ago about Trixie’s options and she knows that there isn’t really any discussion to have. 

Now that she’s decided, and she has decided, she realises, Trixie feels calmer. She checks her make up in her compact, reapplies her pink lipstick and runs her fingers through her long, blonde hair, pulling into a neat side ponytail. No need for much more; they’ll either want her or they won’t. 

The circus is just where she knew it would be. Behind the high school, on some open scrubland next to the playing fields. The familiar panels of brightly painted wooden fence enclose the big top, the caravans and their vehicles. The big top is the same pink and blue stripes of the flyer and from the top fly beautiful, embroidered silk banners. They are fluttering in the breeze and the sun glints off the flagpoles. It’s bigger, more impressive than she remembers. Perhaps she’d just got used to the spectacle of it, but the people walking past look entranced. There are a group of high school students daring each other to try and look over the fence, climbing up on each other’s shoulders, and a family with a toddler who has stopped still on the sidewalk, gazing up at the flags with a look of wonder on his little face. 

Trixie follows the fence round to the entrance where a trailer that acts as the ticket office is set up. From behind the fence there is the sound of laughter and some music, rehearsal perhaps or just people playing around, coming up with new ideas for the act. 

There’s no one around at the little ticket office and the window has a thick, embroidered curtain drawn across it. Trixie hovers awkwardly for a moment, it’s an odd feeling – now that she’s here, she feels like she should be able to jump the gate, slip past the tent to the cluster of caravans behind like no time has passed. She doesn’t; it’s been two years since she left and it’s not home anymore. But neither is the claustrophobic, provincial town behind her, or Hannah’s sofa bed with her overflowing rucksack next to it. So, Trixie smooths down her skirt, runs one nervous hand through her hair and knocks, slightly harder than she meant to, on the box office window. 

The curtain is pulled sharply open, to reveal a man Trixie doesn’t recognise with a strong nose, light brown hair and a bored expression. The counter in front of him is covered in ticket stubs and Trixie recognises the ledger he’s noting down numbers in – she’d always hated getting stuck with that job. She gives another of her half waves and tries for a winning smile. The man doesn’t really smile back, but he does slide the window open. 

“Show starts at 7, you can buy tickets from 6.” 

“No, I don’t want a ticket, I mean, sorry, I wondered if I could speak with Alaska?”

Trixie tries not to acknowledge to herself the pause before she says Alaska’s name, doesn’t want to think about why she chose the obviously more difficult and intimidating sister. 

The man at the desk looks faintly surprised, like he can’t quite find the energy for real interest but wants to acknowledge the strangeness in Trixie asking for Alaska by name at half past five in a tiny town in Ohio. 

“Sure, is she expecting you?” 

“No, but I used to be, it’s been a while—” why can’t Trixie finish a damn sentence? 

“She’s in the office, come through,” and he stands up and opens the trailer door for Trixie. He’s too big for the small space, tall and very muscular. Trixie follows him through to the back of the trailer, he knocks and then opens the door to the tiny office for her and she smiles again in thanks.

Alaska is sitting at the desk. She’s half dressed in her costume for tonight, high waisted trousers with braces over a soft tailored shirt and her hair is loose, hanging down her back in messy blonde curls. She looks up as the man leaves behind Trixie, pulling the flimsy door shut behind him. Alaska’s eyes widen a little with surprise but that’s the extent of her reaction. It’s as though Trixie is just half an hour early for a meeting, rather than turning up out of nowhere, nearly two years after walking away with less than a week’s notice. Trixie hadn’t been expecting a tearful reunion, but Alaska had been known to throw some pretty intense tantrums in her time. When she’d left, she got away largely unscathed, mainly by not working her full notice and avoiding Alaska as much as possible. She was really hoping that Alaska hadn’t stored up any resentment. 

“Trixie Mattel. Ohio, huh?”

“Alaska! Hi, how are you?” Trixie fights to keep her voice steady, friendly yet professional. 

“I’m great, we’re all great. Is this a social call? We do have a show tonight you know.” Alaska raises one eyebrow, elongates the last word with a relish that sets Trixie’s teeth on edge and steels her resolve all at once. 

“No. Alaska, I need a job. I know it’s nearly summer season, and I was wondering,” she swallows, “you know I’m good, you know I will pick up the act real quick. I always loved it here, I just had some things that I needed to do.” 

Alaska holds up a hand and Trixie falls silent. It’s a little like being in the headmistress’s office. Trixie forces herself to keep her hands flat against her sides and not let herself twist her fingers together like a naughty school girl. She didn’t run away. 

“You’re in luck, Mattel. We’re short-handed. We leave tomorrow morning though, so you better not have any long drawn out goodbyes to perform.” 

“No, no, that’s great. Thank you, Alaska, I really appreciate it.” 

“Sure, whatever. Can you see the show tonight? You’ll need to learn Sharon’s new routine, it would be good for you to see it.” 

Trixie feels a pang of regret at not having a chance to properly thank Hannah, take her out for dinner or something, but she knows it’s not really optional and she nods. 

“So, you’ll be Sharon’s assistant again. We’ve got Violet standing in at the moment and it’s too much for everyone, the costume changes are just ridiculous for a start. You’ll do two box office shifts a week, so dust off that charming smile of yours. We’ll put your duet back in the opening too – have you still got your tap shoes?” 

Alaska doesn’t wait for Trixie’s nod, “Weekly company wage, maximum eight shows a week. We’ve got a busy summer coming up. Welcome home, kid,” she drawls, “things have been a lot less,” she pauses, surveys Trixie in front of her, “pink, without you.” And she laughs at her own joke, throwing her head back, her wide mouth open. It’s when they laugh that the Zamolodchikova sisters look the most similar, big white teeth and crinkled eyes. Trixie can’t quite manage a laugh, but she smiles, releases a long breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

“Katya’s around,” Alaska waves a hand vaguely, gesturing behind her, “she’ll sort you out a bed or whatever else you need.” 

Trixie reads the subtext loud and clear, Alaska is not to be bothered with details. Nothing much has changed then. Katya always was more interested with the day to day details of a company on the road; who’s ill or working too hard, who’s hooking up, who’s lonely and needs a friend. She had been the one to take Trixie under her wing when she’d first arrived. Everyone else had circus in their blood and she’d had a lot to learn. 

Alaska has already gone back to the papers in front of her and Trixie knows she’s not going to be formally excused, so she takes one last look around the crowded office, as though looking for one last sign that she’s doing the right thing. Nothing jumps out at her. She goes back out to the ticket office. A queue has formed and the guy from earlier is selling tickets with a little bit more energy than he had before, but he’s hardly charming. Trixie guesses he’s only there because they are short staffed, and she wonders who’s left since she was here last. She knows she should introduce herself, but there’ll be plenty of time for that later and he looks busy. She lets herself out of the trailer and through the gate onto site. 

There's nearly another hour until the show starts but Trixie knows that things will be getting busy backstage. No one, even the people that might be pleased to see her, will have time to speak to her now. Trixie heads towards the main entrance to the big top, keeps walking to the fence opposite and settles herself against it. Katya and Chi Chi will be stretching, Bianca and Adore will be painting their faces, everyone will be doing last minute checks. These one-night stands are rare but exhausting, and they have a particular energy to them. They arrive the night before, when it's already dark, one team on fencing and the other helping Artem run the power in. Ginger cooking up something hot and simple that they eat with a traditional vodka nightcap to send them off to sleep. Their tiny, self-contained village, safe. It’s an early start in the morning; from start to finish, putting up the big top takes a good four hours. There’s never time to see whatever town they're in, they're all the same anyway. There’s that weird lull in the late afternoon; the aimless bit before the adrenaline of performance nerves, when no one is quite sure what to do with themselves. Then time speeds up, suddenly there isn't long enough for everything that needs doing. Trixie remembers rushing through her make-up and cursing at ladders in her tights before realising that she’s supposed to be manning box-office. How she’d find Katya there, covering for her, and their breathless laughter as they swapped out, her shouts of "you owe me, Barbie" as she cartwheeled away from the queue to finish her warm up. She remembers the happy bustle of the crowd, the sickly smell of popcorn, doughnuts, candyfloss. And the wait backstage, they’ll all be waiting backstage right now. Trixie had been nervous every time, everyone was a little, it was part of what kept the magic alive. They’d be a quick hand squeeze with the other girls, and she’d check double knot in the laces of her tap shoes. 

What's better? Performing your own songs to three people in a cafe for nothing, just you and your guitar, the elation of selling your EP for $6 to an earnest music student? Or the applause of a full audience, sweat pooling in the small of your back at the curtain call, shoulder to shoulder with a company that are the some of the best of the best, taking your bow as the glamourous assistant? Sometimes it had seemed like there was such little skill required. Just look good in the costume, be the fantasy distraction that creates the magic, then melt into the background for Sharon to take centre stage, the lights glinting off her knives. But then those evenings with everyone sat round the fire together, so loud, everyone talking over each other, playing cards, Ginger’s often questionable food. They definitely beat wearing thin the charity of Hannah's sofa bed and ramen noodles three nights in a row. Trixie knows how she answered this question when she left at the end of her first and only summer season with The Zamolodchikov Family Circus. Now she's not so sure, even though it feels like she's just signed a contract in blood under Alaska's steely and yet almost disinterested eye. 

She should call Hannah, tell her not to expect her home until late and that she’ll be gone first thing in the morning. She hasn’t told Hannah much about her time with the circus. It had definitely felt like a closed chapter in her life and Trixie had been trying to cultivate her image as a romantic struggling musician. Well, struggling had been about right, she thought wryly, as she took her phone out of her handbag. She sent Hannah a text instead, “I’ve got a job! My old circus wants me back. So I’ll be off in the morning. I’ll be home late. Thanks for everything!” It felt ridiculously inadequate and yet overly domestic. 

People are arriving steadily now, disappearing into the big top. There's a queue for doughnuts and for candyfloss. Trixie should go in too, she doesn't want to draw attention to herself by being late just as much as she didn't want to be the first person in either. She's not ready for the knowing eyes, the questions everyone will think they already know the answers to. She wants to put it off for as long as possible, definitely wants them enjoying the post-performance adrenaline rush to smooth over her sudden reappearance. She didn't leave to end up stranded in this tiny Ohio town, an hour’s drive from anywhere of interest. No one will expect her to be here. 

The thing is, she had left in such a rush, she hadn’t really said any proper goodbyes. It had felt so important and like the only chance she might get. She hates that she feels nervous about seeing people that were some of the closest friends she’d ever had. When she’d first joined the circus, when she’d been waiting tables and waiting for her life to start in her Wisconsin hometown, she’d not exactly been young and stupid. All her friends that were going to leave town had already gone, were graduating from college with big career plans. Trixie was twenty-two when she first ran away to join the circus and twenty-three when she ran away from it. There was just so much she wanted to do, and she’d tried to explain that to Katya, sitting crossed-legged opposite each other on Katya’s bunk. 

“I just feel stuck,” she’d said. 

“Stuck?” Katya had echoed, bafflement all over her face. How could you feel stuck, she’d asked, with the open road in front of you? With new towns and cities every week? With a family around you?

And Trixie had tried to be gentle when she’d said that they weren’t her family. Not really. She’d had a family and they hadn’t been much use really. That had been the end of that conversation. Katya was hurt, Trixie knew she was. But how to take back something you’re pretty sure you meant?

She needed to create her own music. She’d had enough of fluttering her eyelashes in a pretty costume for someone else to take all the applause. So, on a rare trip out in a town in Philly a few weeks later, when they’d found themselves at an open mic night, Trixie had grabbed her chance. The guy who ran it had his own studio. And he was cute, and he said Trixie could stay over with him, no strings. And Trixie can’t remember what the last words she’d said to Katya were, but she thinks they might have been “fine then.” Embarrassment curls in Trixie’s stomach. 

To stop herself wallowing, Trixie pushes away from the fence and heads to the entrance of the big top. It’s already nearly full and Trixie squeezes onto the edge of one of the painted wooden benches, next to a family with two young children. They are charged with excitement, craning their necks and loudly exclaiming over how high the roof seems, how bright the colours are, how many people there are. It is a very spectacular big top. It’s always seemed bigger on the inside than the outside suggests, it’s not just these kids that have noticed. And the colours are vibrant. The benches and the low barrier around the ring are painted with flowers, birds and animals in bright primary colours. There is music playing, a joyful complicated polka with layers of fiddle and balalaika and percussion. 

The music gets louder and the lights dim. As if on their own cue, the chatter of the crowd also swells and then dies away. In the dark, Trixie can hear people shifting on their benches, the rustle of paper bags of candy.

Then the spotlight snaps up on Alaska centre stage. She looks incredible, as always. Alaska as ringmaster is poised and perfectly in control. To her pristine shirt and trousers, she has added her midnight blue tailcoat with gold trim and heeled boots. On her head, artfully balanced to one side is a matching top hat. Her white blonde hair is tumbling over her opposite shoulder with what Trixie knows is careful precision. She holds a long leather bullwhip, lets the tip of it slide through her fingers as she holds the silence for a beat longer than feels natural. She smiles at the audience, there's a hint of danger in it, like she wants to offer them one last chance to leave but she knows they won't take it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome one and all to The Zamolodchikov Family Circus! Prepare to be amazed as we take you on a dazzling journey of magic, daring and strength." She cracks her whip. The music starts up again and suddenly the ring is full of movement. The performers move in a tightly choreographed sequence, filling the whole space; though Trixie is sure there can’t be more than ten of them, they seem like many more. As they take their turn in the centre spotlight next to Alaska, she cracks her whip and introduces them to the crowd to cheers and applause. Trixie recognises nearly all the names and faces, even their costumes haven’t changed. 

Katya and her partner Chi Chi are flipping and tumbling around the stage in opposite directions and every time they meet one of them leaps spectacularly over the other. The man that was at the ticket office earlier is now wearing what can only be described as a blue vintage bathing suit. His skin is glistening – he’s covered in gold body paint and his make-up is flawless, dark eyeliner and long lashes. Maybe he does some sort of strongman act, Trixie wonders, his arms are massive. Alaska introduces him as Milk. 

Bianca and Adore, the clowns, are juggling with scarves. Every time they get near each other, Bianca steals one of Adore’s so she’s left with just one to wave, beaming out at the audience. Adore always wins the audience’s hearts, but Trixie can’t get enough of Bianca. Her face is a picture, her huge eyes and wide mouth accentuated with her bold make up, and she winks at the audience before taking pity on Adore and tossing scarves back at her, quicker and quicker, daring her to fail. 

Sharon is strutting around like a demonic peacock, twirling a sword and looking, Trixie thinks, faintly ridiculous. Her costume has got more androgynous, her hair is slicked back and her lipstick is dark. The hairs on Trixie’s arms stand up as she imagines hot breath on her neck again. 

Trixie looks for Jinkx, her old caravan buddy and tap partner. Jinkx’s act is a mystic, gateway to the other side affair that Trixie has never quite been able to totally dismiss as stage trickery. She always used to do a tap number with Trixie in the opening, though she’s not doing it solo. Instead, Trixie spots her in a long floaty dress, wafting. Trixie feels a rush of affection for Jinkx. It feels like a long time since she was as relaxed in anyone’s company as she used to be in their cosy caravan. 

In contrast to Jinkx’s rather erratic journey around the ring, all of Violet’s movements are concise and controlled. Her costume is similar to Katya and Chi Chi’s blue and gold leotards and tights but with more flourishes and definitely a sexier cut. She’s holding beautiful feathered fans that she’s twirling in perfect time to the music as she graces each side of the audience with her presence. Violet is primarily an aerial performer, she dazzles audiences on the trapeze, silks and hoop, but she is just as graceful on the ground. If she’s honest, Trixie has always found her intimidating. She has a way of making every audience member feel like she is looking right at them. Trixie feels like a spot light has been turned on her as Violet turns her gaze and Trixie has to remind herself that with the bright lights and packed benches, there’s no way Violet or any of the performers will recognise her. Trixie wonders if Alaska has even told them she’s coming back. She fights the swoop of nerves in her stomach. She knows she’s good enough and she didn’t run away. No point dwelling on the past. Trixie shifts deliberately on her bench to shake off the distracting nerves and tries to concentrate on the show. 

As the last applause and cheers finally die down and the lights over the audience come up, the ZFC performers are all back on the stage, waving the audience goodbye. Trixie is slow to gather her jacket and handbag, she lets the family next to her edge around her, and the young couple, and the sweet group of old ladies. By the time she’s walking between the rows of benches to the exit, she suddenly feels exposed as pretty much the last person leaving and it feels ridiculous to have her back to the stage. Trixie turns just in time to brace herself for the onslaught that is Katya, leaping over the edge of the ring, running across the tops of the benches and launching herself at Trixie. 

“Trixie Mattel! You little sneak! When were you going to come and see me? Were you just going to disappear into the night?” 

Katya, predictably, is hot and sweaty in Trixie’s arms. Her chest is flushed, and her hair is frizzing because of the lights and the humid heat of the tent. Up close, her stage makeup is dramatic but her broad, teeth baring smile is more arresting. Trixie opens her mouth to reply but Katya beats her to it. 

“Alaska said you’re coming back! Trixie, this is really, really excellent news. Fuck we’ve missed you, you wild, rotted, Barbie doll songbird.”

Trixie’s sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere. 

“But I absolutely have to drink some water, like, right fucking now. Come with me, I want to know absolutely everything. Everything.”

Katya’s eyes are wide as she stresses each syllable. She grabs Trixie’s hand and is pulling her back to the stage, across it, and behind the heavy curtain. Backstage is dim and stuffy, the heat generated by the lights and the audience has no way of escaping through the heavy canvas and black drapes that shut the outside world out. Katya pulls Trixie out into the cooler air of the evening and across the grass to her caravan. It is just as messy as Trixie remembers. Katya sweeps a heap of clothes off her bunk onto the floor to give Trixie somewhere to sit down and starts to take her make up off in her tiny spotted mirror hanging on the wall next it. Like so many of Katya’s things, it’s ancient but beautiful. The frame is tarnished silver, a severe woman’s face at the top, her hair twisting to become vines with engraved leaves. 

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Trix! This is going to be so good. Jinkx is going to be so thrilled, I know she’s been missing you. It was a good show tonight, don’t you think? It was good, but it’s going to be better with you back. Did you think it was good; what did you think of Milk? Isn’t he wonderful? I can’t wait to hear what you think. And isn’t Adore’s new bit with the wine just the most adorable thing? You wait, you wait until you see what Chi Chi has been teaching me.”

Katya doesn’t seem to pause for breath, let alone for Trixie to answer any of her questions. She scrubs impatiently at her face, pushing the crumpled wipes into a coffee mug and pulls her hair up into a bun on the top of her head. 

“I absolutely knew something was going to happen today, I just knew it. I felt it in my waters, Trixie, I knew you were coming! Well, not you, but I just had a feeling about today, about this town. A good feeling! And here you are! How did you know we were going to be here? Have you been following us? Was it a race to catch us? I hope you’ve been racing across state to catch us. Did you just miss us, yesterday in Jackson? Did you arrive to a field with a big faded patch and the echo of the applause? We were there for a week, Trix, I can’t believe you missed us.”

“It was just luck. I didn’t know you were here at all.”

“Luck! Bitch, it was fate! The universe brought you here. What else could have brought you to this tiny town?”

Katya is pulling down the straps of her leotard, wriggling out of it. Trixie tries to be subtle about averting her eyes. It suddenly seems like a very long time ago that they got into costume next to each other and she’s not ready for Katya’s teasing about how much of a prude she is. Katya is more careful with her costume than her own clothes. She lays her leotard and leggings out on the bed next to Trixie and, in just her underwear, roots around in the clothes on the floor for something to put on. 

Trixie speaks to the wall opposite. “Well, I’ve been here for a while actually. I’ve been,” she searches for a word to describe the last six months that doesn’t sound too depressing, “drifting.” No, that definitely sounds depressing. Katya doesn’t seem to notice, despite her earlier insistence that she wanted to hear everything. She has pulled on a shapeless black dress covered with embroidered roses and an equally shapeless green cardigan that falls almost to her knees and is already halfway through a bottle of water. 

But then Katya’s turning to her, fixing her with a puzzled stare. “Drifting? That doesn’t sound like you. What about your music, your album?”

Trixie wishes she’d thought more carefully about what she was going to say. “It’s done, I mean, I recorded it. In Pittsburgh. It’s good, I’m really proud of it. It’s just, not taken off quite how I thought it would, I guess.”

“Oh, I see.” Katya looks bewildered. There’s a little crease between her eyes and Trixie feels her cheeks flush pink. She knew at the time that Katya thought it was a stupid idea to try and record an album, to try and make it as a musician, but she hates that she’s been proved right. Katya’s not interested in anything outside of the circus, Trixie knows that, and she doesn’t know anything about the music industry and Trixie had thought that she did. Or at least, knew enough. 

“And here, how did you end up here?”

“I broke up with that guy. The guy with the studio. And I moved here about four months ago. I tried Columbus first, but it was expensive. I wasn’t going to stay, but I met a girl, I met Hannah. I’ve been living with her.”

Katya makes an interested noise, sits on the bed next to Trixie and pulls her knees up to her chest. “That sounds romantic! Very grown up. What’s she like? Isn’t she going to be heartbroken if you leave her for the life of a travelling circus performer?”

Trixie snorts. “Not really, I’ve been sleeping on her sofa for three weeks.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Katya recovers quickly. “For the best, girl, for the best. We can’t be tied down, we’re like wild birds, we need to fly free, you know. Wild and free, like the wind.”

“So, you’re still single then?” Trixie can’t help but laugh and Katya laughs with her, tips her head back so the knot of hair on top of her head her slides back too. 

“It’s really good to see you, Kat.” Trixie means it too. “I’ve missed you.” Katya grins. “I want to hear about everything too. What’s new around here? How are you? ”

“Oh, I’m great.” Katya is breezy. “Nothing is new really. Well, Milk is new. And Violet is a little more insufferable, I suppose. But she’s bound to ease up now you’re back and she’s not covering you. The girl we had last summer, Jennifer, left to go to college to learn to be a dentist!” Katya wiggles her eyebrows and crosses her eyes to show her disapproval of dentistry. 

Trixie tries not to let her heart sink. Everything is just the same. Right back where she started. 

“Hon, I’m so tired. I think I better get home. I need to pack and everything.”

They hug, a little awkwardly, kneeling on Katya’s bed, the blankets slipping under Trixie’s knees. Katya walks her to the entrance. The site is pretty quiet, but there is noise from one of the caravans, everyone must be together, toasting to the end of a long day and another successful performance. It feels strange leaving Katya at the gate. There’s something liminal about looking back to see her, sitting astride the barrier and waving her off. Like, if she didn’t come back, the circus would just move on without her, leave her on the platform, waiting for the next train out. Trixie waves back, before turning and walking back into town.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Posting early because snow day!!
> 
> Thank you so much for the lush comments on chapter one.

Trixie walks back to Hannah’s apartment. It’s a mild evening and she feels a little wired. It’s been such a long day and her legs ache by the time she gets back, but she feels like she’s burnt off some of the raw energy that has been building up since she saw the flyer in the café. It’s fairly late now and Hannah is in her room. There’s still light showing under Hannah’s door, but Trixie doesn’t want to disturb her, so she pulls out the sofa bed and sets her alarm early enough to have time to pack and talk to her at breakfast. 

The sofa bed isn’t exactly comfortable and when Trixie closes her eyes she sees Violet swinging through the air, her hair impossibly long behind her. It feels like the night before going back to school. Her stomach is squirming with nerves. She tries to concentrate on how easy it had been with Katya in her caravan but every time her eyes start to feel heavy, she sees Alaska’s raised eyebrow or Sharon’s slow, catlike smile and she doubts herself all over again. Hannah gets up and goes to the bathroom and Trixie almost holds her breath in her effort to be still. 

When at last she does sleep, Trixie sleeps deeply. She dreams of the circus and of Katya trying to teach her trapeze, which is silly because Katya doesn’t do trapeze. Not that she couldn’t if she wanted to, Trixie thinks sleepily, rolling over to turn off the shrill beeping of her alarm. 

It doesn’t take long to pack and strip the sheets from the bed, turn it back into a sofa. Trixie collects her things from the bathroom and gifts Hannah her stack of music magazines which she’s pretty sure will be in the recycling by the end of the week. Hannah makes coffee and they sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, listening to the inane chatter of the breakfast radio hosts. 

“Hannah, honestly, thank you so much for these last few weeks, I really don’t know what I would have done if…” Trixie falters. 

“If I’d kicked you out when you broke my heart?” Hannah offers.

Trixie laughs. “We both know that no hearts were broken here, but thanks for the accolade I guess.” 

Hannah smiles sadly, and Trixie is taken again by how pretty she is. She’s ready for work, her hair is up and her freckles are showing under her foundation. There’s one loose curl hanging down by her ear, brushing against the collar of her shirt. Perhaps if they’d taken more time, things might have worked out between them. As it was, they’d hooked up one night after seeing each other around at open mic nights and Trixie had never really gone home. Though she hadn’t said as much to Katya last night, she’d been sofa surfing for a while and it had been a good few months since she’d paid anyone rent. But after the first four wonderful weeks full of holding hands in the park and long heart to hearts about music, Trixie had started to feel a little smothered. They stopped having sex every night and Hannah had started to ask Trixie when she was going to get a job. And then Hannah’s parents had been in town, but Hannah hadn’t asked Trixie to meet them. There had been a stilted late-night conversation at this same kitchen table about the future and sacrifices and being realistic. Hannah had cried, Trixie hadn’t. That night, Trixie slept on the sofa and though they’d kissed the next morning and honestly, fooled around a few times since, Trixie hadn’t slept in Hannah’s bed again. 

They finish their coffee. Trixie does a last sweep of the apartment and finds one lonely sock in the dryer. Hannah’s ready to leave for work and there doesn’t seem to be any point in waiting around. She offers Trixie a ride and Trixie accepts gratefully. They’re quiet in the car; they’ve run out of things to say to each other really. Trixie feels a little bit like she’s being dropped off at college, with her rucksack and pink stickered guitar case on the sidewalk outside the circus fence. Not that Trixie’s fairly absent mother ever did anything of the sort, but she imagines that this might be how it would feel. Hannah hugs her tight and they kiss once, chastely. Hannah’s lips are soft and sticky with chapstick. Trixie has a sudden vivid memory of the first time her pink lipstick stained Hannah’s collar, how Hannah had left her shirt to soak in the sink overnight. 

She’s going to miss her, Trixie realises with surprise. Over the years, Trixie has become pretty good at cutting ties and moving on; regret isn’t something she tolerates often. But Hannah is kind and sweet and very beautiful. Trixie tries not to think about the next time she’ll get to taste a woman, have her hands on soft thighs and that particular ache in the back of her neck. 

And then Hannah’s car is driving away, and Trixie is alone with her bags and her guitar. Alaska had seemed pretty insistent that they would be leaving first thing, but it’s gone 8am and there’s little sign of life yet. Trixie heaves her bags over the gate by the ticket office and jumps the fence after them. Katya is in the open space next to the caravans, stretching. She sees Trixie and waves, jogs over to meet her. Katya is in leggings and a loose green sweatshirt. Her hair is up and there are still faint smudges of eyeliner under each eye. 

“Good morning!” Katya has definitely had at least her first coffee of the day, she’s never this perky without it. “You’re here early. Do you need help with your bags?”

Katya looks behind Trixie to see if there are more bags on the other side of the gate. 

“Oh no, thanks. This is everything. I just got rid of everything that wasn’t pink.” Trixie’s only half joking, this morning she’s wearing soft pink low-rise jeans with embroidered flowers on the pockets and one of her favourite sweatshirts, also pink. Trixie is tall and her sweater rides up, exposing the tops of her hips, and the cool morning air is giving her goosebumps. 

Katya laughs and reaches for Trixie’s guitar. “I was thinking you could room with Jinx again? I know she’s missed having company.” 

Trixie nods, pleased and relieved. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“She’s still asleep, I think. Let’s just leave your stuff in my caravan for now?” 

Trixie nods again and follows Katya’s quick strides across to her caravan. It’s one of the smaller ones; Katya doesn’t share with anyone. Trixie’s not sure if that’s because of her messiness, her early mornings or her status as the co-owner of The Zamolodchikov Family Circus. It’s beautiful, adapted now to be hooked up to one of the jeeps rather than horses, but it’s one of the originals dating back to the circus’s beginnings in Russia. Katya and Alaska grew up in the circus and Katya knows every inch of the painted carvings decorating her travelling home. She’s shown Trixie all her childhood favourites, the roses in hidden clusters where the curved roof meets the walls, the painted horses with feathered headdresses and the silhouette of St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow in gold on one of the back panels. They must cost a fortune to keep looking this beautiful, the colours are so vibrant. Katya’s is mainly blues and gold, but the flowers stand out in reds and oranges with deep green stems. 

“I’m going to have more coffee; do you want some?” Katya calls from inside after Trixie has passed her up her backpack. 

“Please. I thought you’d be starting to pack down by now. Alaska said you were leaving first thing.”

Katya laughs again. “Oh, don’t let Alaska boss you! You know what she’s like.” 

Trixie feels a little silly. She did always used to know when to take Alaska seriously and when to roll her eyes. Alaska had often asserted her position with petty demands and tantrums. Insisting that Trixie arrive hours early was a powerplay typical of Alaska. Perhaps she got away with it because Katya was a bit of a soft touch. Despite the differences in their attitudes to being in charge, no one could deny either sisters’ dedication to the circus. Since their parents had died, Katya and Alaska had taken on running the circus between them. Although Katya was older by four years, they worked as a team. They were both born and raised in the circus. Neither had been to school, let alone college and Katya always paused for thought whenever she was asked which state she’d been born in, the knowledge was so unimportant to her. 

Katya comes out with two short, strong coffees from her stovetop pot. She hands Trixie the one with milk and sugar and they sit shoulder to shoulder in the doorway at the top of the fold down steps, cradling their steaming cups. 

Katya is quieter than she was last night. She seems to have got over her initial excitement at seeing Trixie and is happy to sip at her coffee in comfortable quiet. This is how so many mornings had started when Trixie had been with the circus and the familiarity feels surprisingly good. 

Katya lets her head drop sideways on to Trixie’s shoulder and hums a funny little tune. 

“I’m so happy you’re home, Trix.”

“Sure, a second rate playing field outside a shitty high-school in a shitty nowhere town in Ohio. Home sweet home.”

Katya doesn’t reply and Trixie sneaks a sideways look at her. Her face is mostly hidden by her coffee cup, but Trixie is pretty sure she’s blushing and Trixie’s stomach twists with guilt. 

She tries to cover her rejection. “You’ve gone soft without me! You’d better not be this hokey all the time.”

Katya snorts and elbows her in the side, almost spilling her coffee. 

As Trixie gazes out across the field, signs of life begin to show at each of the caravans around them. Out of their costumes and the glare of the lights, everyone looks a little smaller, a little softer. Jinkx is the last out of her caravan but as soon as she spots the two of them she’s running towards them, scarf and feet flapping. She embraces Trixie in a tight hug that smells of joss sticks and lavender. 

“Trixie! You’re a sight for sore eyes, my dear! Katya tells me you’re joining our little troupe again. I hope you’ve still got your tap shoes, though I’m a little rusty, I must admit.” 

“Of course!” Trixie jumps up and does a little soft-shoe shuffle, throwing her arms up straight in the air and pulling her shoulders back. 

Katya is laughing and Jinkx mirrors Trixie’s movements, they circle their hands up and behind their backs and fall into rhythm together. 

“Mattel! I didn’t know we were looking for another clown!”

The drawl is unmistakable and sure enough, as Trixie lets her hands drop and turns, she sees Violet stalking over to them. Her hair is up in a high ponytail and her black eyeliner is perfectly winged. Somehow, in her white t and denim cut-offs, she looks more put together than seems fair in a field at eight-thirty in the morning. Violet ignores Jinkx and Katya and looks her up and down, with frostiness that Trixie would find amusing if she wasn’t honestly intimidated. 

“I’m not having Sharon throw one more damn knife at me, Mattel, so you’d better be on your A game.”

“It’s really good to see you too, Violet. How have you been?” Trixie tries to force her smile to reach her eyes. 

“Whatever. Morning, Kat, Jinkxy.” And with that, Violet is stalking away to join Bianca and Artem who are starting to take the fence panels down and stack them on the truck. 

“Isn’t she just a little ray of sunshine,” Jinkx drawls. 

“She’ll be so much easier to deal with now you’re back Trixie,” Katya gets to her feet and puts her arm round Trixie, “don’t let her get to you.”

“Ugh, Violet can’t get to me, bitch. I’ve eaten scarier prima-donnas than her before breakfast.” 

“Ha! I bet you have, you filthy bitch!”

Katya laughs and squeezes her side. It’s reassuring and Trixie resists collapsing into her for a full hug. Not over fucking Violet Chacki’s terrible morning attitude. Besides, there’s work to be done and Trixie is keen to get stuck in with the strike. Katya is obviously a key player. She seems to be everywhere at once, lifting fence panels, undoing guy ropes and reversing the jeeps up to the caravans. Trixie hangs back, not sure what to help with. 

In front of her eyes, the circus is disappearing into itself, like a set of Russian dolls neatly stacking away. The clever way the big top packs away into nearly nothing has always fascinated Trixie, and she watches as the heavy, waxed canvas is pulled away in sections from its wooden frame and expertly rolled up into bundles by Chi Chi and Milk. Sharon and Alaska receive each bundle and toss it up onto the flatbed truck, already loaded with lights and aerial equipment. For the circus to travel so easily, and with such a small team, everything has to fit in its place. Trixie knows that just getting stuck in won’t be of any help, but she feels awkward watching everyone work. She’ll need to be given a role, so she can fit back into the team but for now she looks around for Jinkx. She spots her at the far end of the field, doing the unglamorous job of litter picking. That Trixie can help with without drawing attention to herself, so she strides over and stoops to pick up a discarded bag of candy floss. 

“It’s always such a hustle and bustle,” Jinkx says kindly. She can see that Trixie is rattled. “You’ll get back into the swing of it all.” 

Trixie nods and takes the trashbag Jinkx hands her. 

It what seems like an unreasonably short amount of time, considering the size and spectacle of the circus last night, the field is bare and it’s as if they were never there. 

Trixie learnt from Bianca while they were strapping down the tarp covering the smaller truck that there isn’t another performance until tomorrow, but that there is a three hour drive to their next venue, back east across state. They travel in two trucks and two jeeps that tow the caravans, as well as Ginger’s catering truck that both feeds the circus folk and provides punters with hot doughnuts and popcorn. Trixie can drive, but she’s never owned a car and she was never asked to drive when she was last here. Again, there’s that horrible, hovering feeling of not being picked for a team as she watches Alaska climb up into the driver’s seat of the bigger of the two trucks, and Milk wave Chi Chi back as she reverses out into the road. Katya is climbing into the driver’s seat of one of the jeeps and she spots Trixie waiting, waves her over. 

“Are you even coming? Come on, sweet cheeks, I’ll give you a ride!” She winks outrageously, screwing up half of her face. 

“My mother taught me not to accept rides from strangers,” Trixie retorts, even as she pulls the passenger door open. Jinkx has followed her and is already settling herself in the back seat with a bundle of knitting and a soft looking maroon travel scarf. 

Trixie tries to fold her long legs comfortably under the seat. There’s not quite enough space and she can tell already that she’s going to get cramp. The footwell is a mess of candy wrappers, coffee cups, and two of Katya’s shoes, non-matching. 

“Push the seat back.” Katya is looking in her mirrors, swinging round slowly as the two caravans behind straighten out. 

“Huh?”

“Push the seat back if you haven’t got enough space, you weirdo. Also, the road atlas should be there somewhere. Can you find it? Thank God Jinkx won’t have to navigate anymore.”

“I’m an excellent navigator,” Jinkx says mildly behind them. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best, when you’re awake! Remember last month, in Virginia?”

Jinkx chuckles, she seems completely unbothered by whatever happened in Virginia. Trixie roots around in the rubbish at her feet, then in the overhead shelf. There’s no road atlas, but she does find Katya’s CD collection in a case barely hanging together and a number of necklaces, all tangled together. 

“It’s cool, we’ll just convoy,” Katya shrugs. “Put some music on?”

Trixie flicks through the motely collection of CDs. There are some new ones, but most she recognises and is definitely not ready to hear for the hundredth time, even after a decent break. She fiddles with the radio tuner instead, finding some easy pop classics. Settling back in the seat, Trixie fiddles with the tangle of necklaces, trying to gently pull them apart. Katya is cheerfully and tunelessly singing along to the radio and Jinkx’s knitting needles click rhythmically behind her. It’s almost relaxing. 

“Ah, damn it!” Katya slaps the steering wheel and brakes sharply at the red light. They’re at the busy intersection at the edge of the next town over. They’re also last in the convoy and there’s at least two other streams of traffic before they’ll get to move again. Chi Chi and her two caravans have already disappeared. 

“Oh dear,” says Jinkx. 

“You sure there’s no sign of that map, Trix?” asks Katya, tapping her short nails on the wheel. 

“We didn’t have it the other day, don’t you remember, Kat?”

“How did you find your way here then?” Trixie knows it’s not a helpful question, but she’s asked it before she can stop herself. 

“Instincts,” Katya says brightly.

“We can’t drive for three hours on instincts!”

“I have very finely-honed instincts, thank you very much! How do think I’ve survived without you and just Jinkx’s navigating for two years? Besides, the circus is happy you’re back and it’ll lead us right.”

“The circus is happy? The _circus_? Katya—” 

The lights up ahead change. 

“Left or right?”

“How on earth am I supposed to know?”

“Left or right?” Katya looks positively gleeful as she shifts into gear. 

“Left!” Jinkx calls, also Trixie notes, inexplicably cheerily.

Katya turns the wheel and they take the left. At the next intersection, they take the right and then, when less than a mile later, they can’t even see the road sign because a giant truck manages to sit on Katya’s side and completely block it, Katya takes a last-minute left that has Trixie gripping the door handle. She tries to distract herself with the necklaces again, carefully teasing out a fine gold chain from a necklace of corks and another of glass beads painted to look like eyeballs. 

“How come we’re not performing in any of these towns? Three hours is a pretty long journey time for this time of year, isn’t it?” 

Jinkx groans dramatically. “Oh, Alaska screwed up the bookings, then had a massive tantrum about it. She still won’t admit how ridiculous it was to drive across the whole of Ohio just for last night.”

“Bitch!” Katya slaps the steering wheel again, but they’re on an open road now and there’s no traffic. “It wasn’t a mistake!”

“But it must have been,” Jinkx starts, but Katya cuts her off. 

“I’ve just worked it out! It was Trixie!”

Jinkx hums with interest, apparently entertaining this bizarre idea. 

“Um, excuse me. Why would it be my fault?” Trixie is indignant. 

“Not your fault, obviously. But the circus must have known where you’d be, and so we came to get you. To rescue you from nowheresville!”

“Excuse you! I did not need rescuing!” Katya and Jinkx are laughing and Trixie can feel her cheeks going pink with frustration. “You’re both completely mad. Jinkx, come on, ‘the circus’ did not come and get me. Help me out here!”

“I don’t know, Trixie. You must admit, it would be a strange coincidence otherwise.”

“You see, Trix! And the circus won’t let us get lost now that we’ve got you. You wait and see, we’ll get there just fine.”

Trixie exhales sharply and rolls her eyes. She’d forgotten this nonsense the two of them used to talk. She could tolerate Jinkx’s tarot cards and even quite enjoyed their talks late at night in the dark about what they might mean. But the way that Katya talked about listening to what _the circus_ wanted to do, about how they shouldn’t change the act because _the circus_ had told her not to, it was infuriating. And now she was stuck in a car for at least another two and half hours, probably more since they had no map and no one to follow, with two mad women who seemed to delight in winding her up.

“I just can’t with you two. I’m going to sleep.” She shifts round in her seat, feeling a little childish but with no intention of backing down, and rests her head on the window, closing her eyes. The other two had stopped laughing and seemed satisfied with their explanation of the circus’ motivations. They didn’t keep on about it anyway and for that Trixie was grateful. She let the steady drone of the engine and the click clack of Jinkx’s knitting lull her to sleep. 

Trixie stirs, very slowly, and winces at the pain in her stiff neck. There is something brushing against her leg and she opens her eyes. Katya is rooting around in the footwell with one hand, the other still on the wheel. They are on a long straight road, and Katya is driving fast, with eyes on the road but only just. 

“Katya! Are you trying to kill us?” Trixie bats her hand away and Katya sits up straight. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. Is there a lighter down there? I can’t find one.”

Trixie grumbles, she’s stiff and slow with sleep, but she leans forward and looks through the rubbish. There is a lighter, a battered red one with the silhouette of a woman dancing provocatively on the side. 

“Real classy,” she teases as she leans over and lights the cigarette Katya has in her mouth for her. 

Katya just laughs as she exhales and winds the window down to let the smoke out. 

“Thanks. Good sleep?”

The clock on the dashboard tells Trixie she’s been asleep for nearly an hour. Her brain is foggy and she’s got a headache, but she doesn’t want to moan when Katya’s been driving with no company. There’s no sound of knitting and sure enough, when she looks over her shoulder, Jinkx is curled up in her scarf, sound asleep. 

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry we left you driving on your own. Has Jinkx been asleep long?”

Katya doesn’t look bothered. “Her? I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did, it must be the novelty of having you around. She’s been knitting me that scarf for months. It was supposed to be my Christmas present and its practically summer!”

Trixie watches the trees that line the road speed past. The sun is high and bright, it’s well past lunchtime. There’s bound to be a diner soon, they’re on a main road. Trixie hopes Katya will want to stop, breakfast seems like a long time ago and her stomach is starting to rumble. 

“So, do you think you’ll miss Hannah? Is that her name?”

Trixie is a slow to respond, she wasn’t expecting the question. “Hannah, yeah. Nah, not really.” Katya doesn’t say anything but raises one eyebrow, and Trixie feels a little silly for lying. “Well, I mean, yeah of course. I’ll miss having a girlfriend, having someone there to just cuddle and be with, you know?” 

Katya takes another drag on her cigarette. “It sounds very, I don’t know, domestic. You must have really liked her, to move in with her?”

“I don’t know, Kat. It wasn’t really right, I always knew that. But there’s no point in moping around is there? Though, the sex was really good, I will miss that!”

Katya barks with surprised laughter and Trixie joins her, pleased at the reaction. 

“Why, Miss. Mattel! You have changed!”

“I’m just a modern bisexual woman, living my best life. Don’t come for me for being confident in my sexuality.” Trixie affects the nasal tone that always makes Katya laugh. “How about you? What conquests have you got to boast about? Left a woman heartbroken in every other town, I bet!” 

Trixie knows that’s blatantly untrue. Katya was always famous for never even noticing when someone was trying to flirt with her. God knows, Trixie had tried it herself once, back when they first met, and had gotten absolutely no-where. 

“I get plenty, thank you very much!” Katya retorts, her pale cheeks colouring a little. 

“Oh yeah?” Trixie can’t resist teasing and reaches over to poke Katya’s side. “Gory details, please!”

“I went out with Chi Chi to a bar just last month, when we were in Cleveland. Wait, maybe it was the month before?” She frowns, trying to remember. “Anyway, she was lovely. She was called Laila and she…” Katya trails off, her eyes firmly on the road ahead. 

“She…?” prompts Trixie, knowing she’s pushing her luck. 

“She was very pretty. She had a really nice ass. Oh, fuck off! I get plenty of women and I don’t have time for a girlfriend anyway. We’re not all hopeless song-writing romantics. I run a very successful business. I am the epitome of modern womanhood.” 

Trixie can’t help but laugh watching Katya squirm. “Ok sure, whatever you say, boss.” 

“That’s right, let’s see some respect, or I’ll have you out before you can dodge one rusty penknife,” Katya is laughing, not an ounce of authority in her voice. She takes another long drag on her cigarette. 

“Any sign of the others?”

“No, not yet. There was a bit of traffic that’s slowed us up a bit, so they’re probably just ahead of us.”

“Well, I don’t know about yours, but my instincts are saying lunch?” Trixie tries hopefully. 

Katya nods emphatically and as if on cue, Jinkx stirs on the backseat. 

“Did someone say lunch?” 

Katya chuckles. “Hello sleepyhead. I’m pretty sure there’s a truckstop up ahead with a diner.”

Trixie has no idea how Katya knows this, and she doesn’t ask, sure that she’ll get more fanciful nonsense in reply. But sure enough, not much further down the road, there’s a gas station with a small restaurant next to the half empty parking lot. Katya takes the turning and parks up. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I knew it was here?” She asks, slamming the driver’s door. 

“I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction, but—” Trixie replies. 

“There was a road sign, duh!” Katya crows, bouncing ahead of Trixie and Jinkx, who are both a little slower, stretching and yawning. 

Inside, it’s a typical roadside restaurant. There are framed photos of the local landscape in all seasons on the walls, alongside a kitschy collection of paintings of roosters. It’s quiet, and the three women settle themselves at a table in the corner. Once the waitress has taken their order, eggs for Trixie, eggs with bacon for Jinkx and pancakes for Katya, talk turns to the tour stops for the rest of the month. They’re heading west, slowly, and stopping at what seems like every decent sized town across the state. 

They don’t hang around once they’ve eaten and they’re soon back on the road. Trixie puts on a CD for Katya and, though she tries to stay awake, the monotony of the treelined highway soon has her drifting off again. She tries to stir herself, but Katya shushes her apologies and Trixie lets herself sleep, aware that once they arrive there will be plenty of work to do. 

Katya shakes her awake. They’re pulling up to a area of scrubland similar to where they were in Kenton, but this time outside what looks like a public swimming pool. The rest of the circus is already parked up. Trixie can see Chi Chi in a headstand next to her jeep and Bianca is sat on the steps of one the caravans, reading. They’re definitely the last to arrive, but no one looks worried or angry, so they’ve can’t have been too far behind. 

Trixie was right to sleep; there’s no time to relax now. As soon as Katya has uncoupled the caravans and parked the jeep next to Chi Chi’s, they start work. They put the fence panels up first, so as to keep the circus a surprise for the town. There’s a steady flow of curious locals slowing down as they drive past, peering out at them. Once the fence is up, they start on the big top. Though it only takes four of them to take it down, putting it up is a whole team effort, and takes twice as long. The frame is built in sections, then the heavy canvas roof needs to be pulled out. The wallings, the sections of canvas that hang on metal rope like curtains that form the walls of the tent, take forever to put up, though at least there’s no wind to fight against today. The webbing loops feel familiar in Trixie’s hands, as does the ache across the front of her thighs once they’ve finally tightened the last guy rope. 

Alaska calls a company meeting as soon as they’ve finished, and they crowd into the big top, grateful for the shade, and stand in a circle. Artem has been running in the generators and he’s busy at the stumpy lighting tower. There’s an awkward wait, then the tent is flooded with bright lights, the harsh working lights that reach into the furthest corners and make everything look a little stark and worn. Trixie wants a long cold drink and some time on her own, but it feels satisfying to be standing in the massive tent that there was no sign of just hours ago. Next to her, Adore is stripping off her plaid shirt and combing her fingers through her hair. Trixie opens her mouth to say something obvious about being hot and tired, but Alaska starts speaking. 

“Great work everyone,” she starts, looking around the circle and clearly doing a quick headcount. “And a special shout out to Katya for not getting lost again, despite your road atlas still being on my desk in the office.”

Everyone laughs good naturedly and Katya smacks her forehead comically and makes a goofy face at Jinkx next to her. 

“Right, as I’m sure even the least observant amongst you will have noticed, we have Ms. Tracy Martell back with us again.”

“It’s Trixie,” Trixie corrects quickly, not quite under her breath, and Alaska laughs.

“Keep your panties straight, doll. Trixie will be Sharon’s assistant again, starting from tomorrow night, and she’ll dance in the opening number with Jinkx, so we’ll need to find time to work her in tomorrow. This means we’ll go back to the running order we had when Jennifer was assisting Sharon because we don’t need to factor in Vi’s costume changes. Trixie, Sharon, I want you to rehearse tonight. I’ll need to know if you’re going to be ready. Everyone else, please make sure you know the order of the show and make any necessary changes to your set up. If there’s nothing else—” Alaska leaves only a beat for interruptions, then continues, “great. Thanks everyone.”

The circle breaks up. Alaska steers Katya away with a hand on Katya’s arm, talking low and insistently about something that Katya looks thoroughly bored by. On her other side, Adore is pulling her hair back up into a ponytail and talking to Bianca.

“Fuck man, I am tired. I need a beer.” 

Bianca’s lips are pursed and she’s frowning, probably thinking about tomorrow’s show and if the changes will affect her. Bianca meticulously prepares for everything.

“B, have you got any beers?” Adore tries a more direct route.

“No, bitch, you drank me dry last night. Go and bother Tracy. Maybe she brought some from where ever she’s been hiding out this past year before she turned up again to be another massive pain in my ass.” Bianca looks over Adore’s head at Trixie and winks. Trixie smiles back. 

“Trixie!” Adore looks genuinely pleased to see her and opens her arms for a hug. Trixie embraces her; Adore is even shorter than Katya, and she rests her head on her chest. 

“I haven’t brought any beers with me, I’m sorry.”

“Boo! Where have you been? It’s been, what…” Adore frowns, counts out months on her fingers. 

“It’s been forever! Glad to see you’ve been missing me so bad you can’t even remember when I left.” Trixie can’t help but laugh at Adore’s pout. 

“Are you ready, Trixie?” Sharon has crossed over to them. She stands with her arms folded over her black vest, black bandana holding back her black hair streaked with silver. Behind her is the large board, painted with swirling stripes of red and gold and covered with the marks the knives have made when they’ve embedded themselves in the thick wood, just inches from Violet’s skin. 

Adore gives her a wry smile and makes herself scarce. Everyone else is making their way outside too and Trixie wishes she was going with them. The late rehearsal isn’t a surprise, but it still feels a little unfair. It’s late, far past dinner time and Trixie has a feeling that Sharon is going to work her hard. 

“Come on, Mattel. Let’s not have this take all night.” 

Trixie takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. Get your head down and get on with it, she tells herself firmly, this is a good job that you are good at. Stop being such a misery. 

“Let’s warm up with the stuff that you already know and then I’ll teach you the new tricks.”

Sharon isn’t looking at Trixie; she’s bent over the leather case she keeps her throwing knives in with her back to her. As Trixie doesn’t know which bits of the act are the same and which have changed, there’s not much she can do. She does a couple of stretches to loosen her shoulders after the long drive and to stop herself feeling so aimless. As she reaches up, her sweater rides up to her bellybutton, just as Sharon turns back to her. 

“Haven’t you got your costume back yet? That jumper is much bulkier than your leotard. Can’t you take it off?”

“No. And no! I’m not standing here in my bra, Sharon!”

Sharon rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll use my imagination.” She smirks and Trixie glowers back. 

Their act is fairly traditional, especially Trixie’s role as a damsel in distress cum glamorous assistant. The twist of course, is that Sharon is definitely, despite her slicked back hair and well-cut suit, a woman. They walk a very thin line, especially in some of the smaller, conservative towns, but the audiences are fascinated by their dynamic. Sometimes, it’s the reddest states that are most enamoured by it. They are captured by Sharon’s touches as she positions Trixie against the board that last just a second longer than they need to. They love her dark eyeliner and Trixie’s pretty, pink lipstick. They go wild when Trixie swoons in the profile trick, just after the last knife lands at her throat, and Sharon leaps forward and catches her. And they coo and sigh when Sharon wipes the single tear from Trixie’s cheek when’s she’s tied to the subtly named Wheel of Death in the finale. A lot of the skill in being the target girl lies in having the nerve and concentration to stand perfectly still. There’s not much you can do to practice really, but there are other tricks of the trade that Sharon and Trixie use to make the act one of the highlights of the circus.

They work through the first set of tricks. The thud as each knife bores into the painted wood is unsettlingly loud in the empty tent. As well as knife throwing, Sharon also works sword swallowing and juggling with her knives into the act. Predictably, Trixie’s involvement with the former is limited to presenting Sharon with each blade with a sufficient expression of awe, but they do practice some pass juggling and Trixie is pleased not to embarrass herself. They only work with practice clubs and it won’t be in tomorrow’s routine, but Sharon seems happy and they’ll add it in over the next couple of weeks. They’ll use her special set of blunter knives that are polished to a high shine to catch the lights as they fly between them. Trixie tries not to be smug when Sharon tells her Violet never learnt this trick, but if she’s honest, she fails. 

At last, they work through the finale. The act culminates with Trixie spinning on Wheel of Death as Sharon throws her knives in a final, terrifying volley, but the set-up is more complicated. Before Trixie is strapped to the wheel, they fake her flinching and moving from the wheel as the knives fly towards her. In reality, she moves from one specific position to another and Sharon knows just when it will happen. It’s still dangerous though and Sharon is terse. 

“Concentrate, Trixie, for fuck’s sake!” she snaps. “Don’t break eye contact once I’ve hit my mark, I could have thrown then.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t be a brat, Mattel. Keep eye contact.”

Trixie purses her lips and holds Sharon’s gaze with just the hint of a raised eyebrow. She knows she was in the wrong, but her head hurts and she’s hungry and it feels like they’ve been here forever. Sharon makes her repeat the move another three times. She crowds Trixie against the board after each time. The muscles in her arms strain as she pulls each knife out; she’s practically pressing herself against Trixie’s chest. She’s close enough that Trixie can smell her perfume, something musky with smoky undertones, so predictable that it makes her skin crawl. 

“Much better. We’ll do it all again tomorrow morning. I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” And with her free hand she strokes Trixie’s cheek.

“Christ! Haven’t you two finished yet? Sharon, I need you.”

Alaska’s voice rings out across the tent and Sharon steps back, leaving Trixie exposed against the wood. She feels pinned down by the ghosts of the sharp blades, though she can see Sharon slipping her knives safely back into their case. Alaska stalks down the aisle between the benches. She looks angry. Trixie wonders how long she had been watching them. 

“We’re all done, Alaska. Trixie’s a pro; we’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

“Good.” Alaska whips around to face Trixie, nostrils flared. “I hope you’ve got your costume sorted then? I think you’d better go and do that, don’t you?”

There’s absolutely no way that Trixie would have had any time to find her old costume. Now she thinks about it, have they even kept it? She certainly didn’t take it with her. Alaska must know this, she’s the one who scheduled the rehearsal, but Trixie’s not going to take the bait. 

Seething at the unfairness of it, but with a bland smile plastered on her face, she replies, “No, not yet. You’re right Alaska, I’ll sort it out right now. Thanks Sharon, that was really helpful.” And she’s left the tent before either woman can reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got long! Featuring more circus, more flirting and a bit more magic. Thank you for your lush comments, they make my day <3

Trixie is furious. She knows that it’s a waste of energy, but she can’t help but feel hard done by. It’s nearly 10 o’clock. They’d been rehearsing for over two hours. She’s had nothing to eat since those eggs at the diner about a million years ago. Where did Alaska get off, sending her off like a child? And who did Sharon think she was, treating her like some newbie apprentice? 

It’s dark outside. Outside Ginger’s truck, someone has set up the fire pit, and Trixie can see people sat on fold-out chairs and blankets around it. Perhaps there’ll be some food left over. As she gets closer, she sees Katya, Chi Chi and Adore sat cross-legged on a blanket. Katya and Adore are smoking, the orange glow at the end of their cigarettes dancing as they gesture and Katya throws her hands up with laughter. Trixie crosses over to them. She’s not sure whether she’s spoiling for a fight or about to burst into tears. 

“Trixie! I saved you dinner. Have you only just finished?” Katya’s smile is open and cheery. She holds out a bowl of chilli and rice, three empty bowls are stacked next to her. Trixie feels the fight drain out of her and she sinks down next to Adore. She takes the bowl, and the beer that Adore offers, gratefully. The fire is warm and the glow of it makes everything outside of the circle seem darker, further away. 

“Oh my God, I really need this. Don’t anybody talk to me for a bit.” The chilli is a little cold, but it’s filling and spicy and just what she needed. The other three take her advice and continue their conversation about whether Chi Chi should get anymore tattoos without her. Trixie half listens to them bicker as she finishes her food and nurses the bottle of beer. Bianca is sat in a chair across from them, reading a paperback. Ginger’s husband, Artem, throws another log into the low metal pit and it crackles as it catches. Slowly, she starts to feel better. 

“You look a lot more chill,” Adore offers, as Trixie stretches her legs out in front of her with a deep sign. “You looked ready to cut a bitch.”

Trixie snorts. “Maybe a little. I’m feeling better now though. I’m about ready to sleep for a week.”

“Travel days are the worst,” Adore nods, sagely. “It’s like, how I am so tired, all I’ve done is sit in a damn jeep.”

“Speak for yourself, little one,” Chi Chi drawls, “some of us have driven those jeeps. You’ll get back into the rhythm of it all, Trix. You’ve had a long day, why don’t you take yourself to bed?”

Trixie would like nothing better than to cocoon herself in her bunk, but she knows she should do as Alaska said and find her costume. If it needs repairing, she’d rather find that out tonight. 

“I’ve gotta find my costume. I’ve got to rehearse again tomorrow so Alaska said—” 

“Oh, that’s no problem. I know where it is. Do you want to get it now?” Katya says. 

They leave Chi Chi and Adore weighing up whether to have one more beer or call it a night. Katya leads them to her caravan and Trixie climbs up after her. Her guitar and bag are still on the bed. There’s not much space to stand that isn’t in the way, so she pushes them to the foot of the bed and sits next them, sitting on her hands and kicking her ankles a little awkwardly. 

Katya pulls out a wooden stool, pushing aside a heap of clothes with a plate balanced on top of them. She stands on it so she can reach the overhead cupboards over the table that’s covered with books, notebooks and paints. The cupboard is absolutely stuffed full. There are bags upon bags, their zips straining they’re so full. Katya pulls one free and tosses it to the floor, rummages around a little more, then gives a cry of success. 

She throws down another bag, then jumps down after it. It’s similar to the others, a big laundry bag in that hideous red tartan print that they all seem to come in. Katya pulls the zip open and pulls out Trixie’s costume. She looks triumphant and Trixie can’t help but be impressed. It’s all there, folded neatly and wrapped in tissue paper. 

“Wow! Who did that? I know it wasn’t you, you live in here like a squatting swamp witch.”

“Excuse you! I know exactly where everything is. There’s a detailed filing system if you need to see receipts, Tracy.”

Trixie laughs and takes the clothes from Katya. She shakes out the jacket, the tassels hang perfectly straight and the buttons are gleaming. 

“You’ve taken really good care of it. You really missed me, huh? Were you pining for me? That’s so cute. I hope this cupboard isn’t a shrine to me, Kat, that really would be creepy. What else have you kept?”

Katya rolls her eyes and shoves her a little. 

“Fuck off and try it on. I keep all of them, you idiot.”

Trixie frankly can’t be bothered to try it on. It looks perfect. There’s the dark pink leotard with the frilly skirt she has honestly always hated, a little pile of white tights and the fitted jacket that Sharon oh so chivalrously helps her out of at the top of the act, with the fringe hanging from each arm. She feels so sweaty and dirty, she doesn’t want to spoil them. And perhaps she’s a little self-conscious about stripping off in front of Katya, though she’s done it plenty of times before. 

“What do you mean, all of them?”

“Just that. We don’t get rid of any of them, unless people take them I suppose. They’re the originals.”

“Originals? But wouldn’t that mean they were like, 100 years old? That’s crazy, Kata.”

Katya smiles, almost pityingly. 

“Not quite. You know the circus was pretty young when we came over from Russia.”

Trixie knows some of this history. Katya used to like to talk about it, long rambling stories about her great-grandparents when she was driving, and Trixie was watching for road signs. The details are fuzzy now though and she gropes in her memory for a date. 

“1920, right? That’s when you came over to America?”

“1919. When the government was nationalising all the circuses. We emigrated to your land of the free to show you some real magic from mother Russia!” Katya affects a rolled r and puts on a hokey Russian accent. 

“Yes, I remember! And your grandparents fell in love on the boat.”

“That’s what she told me. She was about fourteen, I think? Her parents were acrobats and she fell in love with the ringmaster’s handsome son on the boat over.”

“That’s so romantic, Kat. It must have been so exciting.”

“I think so. She loved it here, she was so proud of her English and she taught me American geography. She had a map that she’d marked with every town she’d performed in.”

“And you’re seriously telling me that these costumes came on that boat from Russia, like, over eighty years ago?”

Katya nods earnestly. 

“Not all of them, obviously, but most. Here, look at these.”

Katya clambers up to reach the cupboard again. She reaches in and pulls out another full bag. Inside are more beautiful costumes, carefully folded and wrapped in tissue. Katya unfolds a tiny, sparkling red leotard. 

“This was my first performance leotard. I used to do a tumbling routine with my mother, when I was just a little kid. I thought I was the absolute luckiest girl in the world. But every night, I was so nervous I thought I might just die of it, just stop breathing. That I would fail in front of everyone, and the audience would all walk out and my whole family would be staring and me and my heart would just stop. Just stop. And my mother would hold both my hands and whisper stories of the girls in Russia who had performed in this costume, how brave and brilliant they were, and how I was too.”

Katya’s knuckles are white where she’s gripping the flimsy fabric. Trixie hasn’t heard this story before. She’s not sure what to say. Suddenly it feels intensely intimate in the tiny space. She doesn’t want to break the spell. She tries to meet Katya’s eyes, but she’s staring down into her lap. The light glints off the rhinestones, making patterns across Katya’s chest. 

“And it shouldn’t have helped, should it? Being compared to those other girls, the weight of how brilliant they were on my tiny shoulders. But it did you know, it actually worked. I guess she was just so sure I belonged there, in the ring with her, that she made me believe her.”

Everything Trixie can think of to say is so disgustingly trite. She swallows the words back down. Katya folds the leotard carefully, wrapping it back in its tissue. 

“It’s beautiful, Katya. Show me some more?”

Katya looks up. Her eyes are bright with tears that threaten to spill over her cheeks. Trixie desperately doesn’t want her to cry. Katya reaches back into the bag. This time she pulls out a short, heavily embroidered jacket. It’s black, but the flowers, birds and animals are stitched into it in such a bright jewel colours in such a dense pattern that there’s hardly any black to see. 

“My grandmother taught me to embroider on this.”

“You can embroider like that? I don’t believe you!”

Katya cackles. It’s hoarse, catches in her throat a little, but it’s bright and loud. 

“Fuck no! I was only mending it. Filling in any areas that got stained or thin. Look here.”

She turns it over in her lap, shows Trixie a cat that is stalking along the bottom of the back piece. The cat has five legs. 

“That was me. I was fourteen and I lost track of what I was doing. She was so angry, she refused to fix it. Said it was a lesson in concentration and discipline, but I don’t think I learnt it. I kinda like her, I call her Sasha. What better place for a five-legged cat than a Russian circus in America?”

They laugh together. The cat’s expression is one of gleeful mischief. 

“Alaska never learnt; she’s always hated sewing. She bought herself a brand-new tail coat for her eighteenth birthday and I’m pretty sure Mama hated it. I don’t know where it went. She doesn’t perform in it.”

“No?”

“No. When Dad died, Mama altered his coat to fit her. It’s important. The costumes hold some of the magic.”

Trixie smiles encouragingly, and Katya rolls her eyes. 

“I know you don’t believe me, but I know they do. How else do you explain how well they’ve lasted?”

“You obviously take good care of them,” Trixie says carefully. 

“Sometimes, I’m sure they mend themselves. And when someone new joins, there’s always something to fit them.”

“Well, I’ll take your word for it then.” Trixie can’t dismiss it, Katya looks so small with her legs folded underneath her, surrounded by sequins and silks. 

“Your mom must have been amazing at sewing, magic or no. That jacket fits Alaska like a glove.”

Katya nods. Pride is glowing from her. 

“She was! She was so good. She made us all our clothes when we were little. Look at these, get ready to die of cute.”

Katya pulls out a cotton playsuit thing, dark red with pink roses all over. She shows Trixie how it’s got little shorts. 

“I used to live in these. Mama made them for me so that I didn’t show everyone my knickers when I was practising my flips and cartwheels. She used to say I was upside down more often than I was right way up and that’s why I talked so much – all my words got jumbled up.” 

Trixie squeals with delight.

“That’s too much! Bitch, too much!”

“I was just an utterly delightful child,” Katya grins. 

“I bet you were impossible!”

Katya folds the playsuit and Trixie stifles a yawn. 

“Oh God! It’s so late! You said you wanted to go to bed and I’m just rambling on. I’m sorry, Trixie.”

“No!” Trixie puts a hand out to touch Katya’s, then suddenly feels awkward and pulls back. “I mean, no, it’s fine. Thank you for showing them to me. They’re gorgeous.”

Katya smiles but carries on packing away. Trixie makes sure her costume is neatly together, then helps her hold the big bags closed as she zips them up. Together they manage to squeeze them all back into the cupboard. 

Every inch of her aches and Katya looks exhausted too. Trixie can’t wait to close her eyes. She gathers up her backpack and guitar, feeling ungainly and bulky in the small space. She’s sure if she tries to turn around she’s just going to sweep everything that’s on the table onto the floor. Katya takes the guitar from her gently. 

“I find it’s easier to take one thing through the door at a time.”

Trixie looks into her green eyes. “Are you OK, Kat? I could stay, if you wanted to talk?”

Katya looks confused for a moment. The crease between her eyes deepens and she looks down. Then, almost as if she’s physically throwing off the feeling, whatever it is, she looks up, pushing her shoulders back.

“Now who’s being a sap? Go to bed, you she-devil. Who gave you the right to parade your ass in here and preach to me about the benefits of bleaching? Bitch, I bleach for Jesus!”

“Katya—”

“Who gave you the right? I will not entertain or tolerate this sort of drama, not in this house!”

Trixie knows that Katya is deflecting. She’s being silly to shake off feeling vulnerable, Trixie isn’t stupid. But the spark in her eyes looks genuine and Trixie can feel the message to ‘back off already’ radiating from her. She doesn’t want to push it and she doesn’t know what else she could say anyway. 

“Good night, honey. Sleep well.”

“I will sleep well when we finally discover the truth behind that Bermuda triangle. Pentangle would be more fitting, don’t you think?”

Trixie climbs down the steps and reaches up to take her guitar. Katya leans down and kisses Trixie’s hair.

“Good night. Don’t let those devil clowns bite. They get particularly hungry around the full moon you know.”

Trixie grins up at her. “I’ll be careful.”

The only light across site now is the big tower light by the gate. Its cold light sends long shadows across the grass towards Trixie as she walks to her own caravan. The fire has been put out next to Ginger’s truck and there are no lights at any of the caravans now. Jinkx must have gone to sleep hours ago. She opens their door quietly, hoping not to wake her. But the reality of getting her guitar, backpack and the bundle of clothes in her arms through the narrow door without dropping something or falling over is too much to handle in the dark, so she reluctantly feels for the light switch. 

The light is dim. Jinkx has covered it with a gold, gauzy scarf. Their caravan is much as it was the last time Trixie called it home. It’s a little bigger and a little more modernised than Katya’s. There’s a tiny bathroom squeezed into one corner for a start, and a minifridge in the corner. But it’s still just as beautifully and ornately painted. As well as their two bunks, which each have drawers below and cupboards above them, there’s a pull-down table with bench seats. Jinkx’s tarot cards are laid out there, with her candles and make up bag and a notebook with a pen neatly laid across it. 

A dark red curtain is pulled across Jinkx’s bunk, but as Trixie shuts the door behind her she hears the rattle as it’s pulled back. 

“Trixie?” Jinkx’s voice is heavy with sleep and she’s got her long, reddish-brown hair tied up in rags like she’s in Little Women. 

“Hey,” Trixie replies softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you, go back to sleep.”

“You Ok? It’s late.”

“I’m good. Rehearsal went on for hours and then Katya saved me food. We’ve been looking at costumes. Did you know she keeps everything in that caravan with her? No wonder it’s such a mess, every cupboard must be packed full.” Trixie’s thinking aloud as she digs in her rucksack for pyjamas and facewipes. 

“Yeah.” Jinkx is nodding. “She showed you some old stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, stuff her mom made and stuff she reckons came over from Russia! Oh shit, don’t wake up, go back to sleep. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, you know I go back to sleep easy. They are from Russia. Nearly all of them are, didn’t you know?”

Trixie shrugs as she brushes her hair. 

“I guess I hadn’t thought. She was saying mad things about them mending themselves. But they are really beautiful. I don’t think I appreciated that before.”

Trixie turns off the overhead lights and climbs into bed, but keeps her curtain open. Through the little window there’s just enough light to make out the alien-like shape of Jinkx’s head with her tied up hair sticking out at every angle. Trixie lies on her back staring up at the ceiling, bare now, that used to be covered in pictures of album covers that Trixie had cut out of Rolling Stone and Spin. Trixie wonders who had taken them down when she’d left. 

“Jinkx?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How did Katya’s mom die?”

There’s silence for a minute and Trixie wonders if Jinkx has fallen asleep. But then, “Why do you ask?” Jinkx voice is careful, but not reprimanding. 

“She just talked a lot about her tonight, stuff she’s never said to me before, and I just, I don’t know, felt bad for not knowing, but it didn’t feel right to ask. She died after Andrei, right?”

Andrei had been Katya and Alaska’s father and the ring master before Alaska. Trixie knew he’d been ill for a few years and had passed away from cancer three years before Trixie’s first season with the circus. Katya had been twenty-five when he died, Alaska only twenty-one. 

“Yes, Vavara died about a year after Andrei. It was an accident. She got hit by a car. They think it was a drunk driver, but he didn’t stop.”

“Oh God, that’s awful.”

“Yes.” Jinkx says simply. “It was. Vavara and Katya were incredibly close, you know? I mean, obviously it was horrible for Alaska too, for everyone, but Katya, she was devastated.”

Trixie remembers Katya gripping the leotard, the tiny gems that encrusted it. Her chest aches. 

“Why doesn’t she ever mention her?”

“We all find our own ways of coping, I suppose. Alaska threw herself into work, into her inheritance, into performing. Katya, well for a long time she disappeared into herself. That summer you were here, that was the first time she started to be more like herself again I guess. She started taking part again. For that first year or so she barely did anything but drive and perform. And sometimes she didn’t even do that.”

“She never said.” Trixie feels guilt washing over her in sickening waves. How could she not have known?

“You mustn’t feel guilty, Trixie. She didn’t tell you for a reason. It must have helped. We were all so used to treating her like a broken ornament, glued back together, you know? Can you imagine how much she must have hated that?” 

Trixie chuckles despite herself at the thought. 

“Exactly. You were good for her.”

They lie in the dark for a while. Trixie has a million questions, but she has a feeling that Jinkx is done. If she wants more, she’ll have to ask Katya and she’s not sure how she’d even start that conversation. 

“She really missed you, you know?” Jinkx’s voice is slow with sleep again.

“Huh?” Trixie asks, lost in thought. 

“When you took off. She really missed you. She’s so happy you’re home.”

Trixie hums a non-committal noise. She can hear Jinkx settling back down to sleep, and she does the same, tugging the curtains closed and pulling the woollen blanket up to her chin. Her head feels too full, suddenly she’s sure she won’t sleep. But she shuts her eyes and concentrates on the sound of Jinkx’s even breathing and she’s asleep almost immediately. 

When Trixie wakes, her legs still feel heavy and it takes her even longer than usual to open her eyes. She can hear Jinkx moving about on the other side of the curtain. She knows that if Jinkx is awake, then she definitely should be, but she can’t quite bring herself to sit up. Today is going to be another exhausting day. 

“Trixie, honey. Are you awake?”

Trixie grunts in reply. 

“I’m making tea. Do you want some?”

Trixie sits up and wrenches back the curtain in one sudden movement, like ripping off a plaster. 

“Green tea?”

“Yes, with lemon. Very refreshing.” Jinkx has lifted the wooden board that covers the little gas stove so that it can be used as an extra surface. In the caravans, everything has two uses to save space.

“Is there any coffee?”

Jinkx laughs. “No, sorry. You’ll have to go to Katya’s to score the hard stuff.”

Trixie gives Jinkx her best dramatic sigh and swings her legs out of bed. 

“I haven’t got time, have I?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll take a tea then please.”

Trixie scrubs at the remnants of yesterday’s make up in the tiny bathroom. She keeps her face bare, partly to save time but mainly because she knows she’ll have performance face on that evening. Trixie dresses in comfy dance leggings and a t shirt with SPICE WORLD emblazoned across the front. She drinks the tea Jinkx hands her and eats a banana. Jinkx has left her hair tied up in rags. She’s tied a scarf, turban style, over them and she’s wearing oversized sunglasses and an ankle length floaty dress. 

“We do not look like we’re in the same dance troupe at all, girl.”

Jinkx lowers her sunglasses and considers Trixie over them. 

“I guess not. But you’ll do. Come on.”

Trixie follows her out, tap shoes in one hand, water bottle in the other. Katya and Chi Chi are smoking outside the caravan next door. 

“Morning neighbour. We had a bet on whether we’d have to come in and roll you out of bed.” Chi Chi grins, catlike, at them, leaning against the caravan. 

“Excuse you! We are ready to work. It. Out.” Trixie tosses her head so her ponytail swings over her shoulder. 

As Trixie expected, Alaska works them hard all morning. Thankfully, she’s in a better mood than she was last night. Though she certainly wasn’t going to say as much to Chi Chi and Katya, Trixie is nervous. It’s a full company rehearsal just to work her into the opening number. If she’s slow or can’t keep up, she’ll keep everyone waiting. It’s all so carefully choreographed, Trixie needs to hit every mark. She cringes when Alaska waves in exasperation at Artem to cut the music. 

“Trixie! You’re right in Violet’s way. Stand literally anywhere else in the ring!”

Trixie turns to see Violet behind her, looking exasperated. 

“Can’t keep up, Spice Girl?” 

“From the top of that section again please, Artem. Places! And 5, 6, 7, 8!”

Trixie only makes a few more glaring mistakes. They work in a bit where Milk lifts her and Jinkx, one on each arm, and Violet reveals them with her fans and an elegant twirl. 

“Nice, Violet. Okay, once more from the top with everyone, and then we’ll work on your tap section. Let’s keep it tight.”

Trixie manages to keep out of the way of Katya and Chi Chi’s tumbling, the clowns’ scarves and Sharon’s swords. Alaska seems satisfied and Katya gives her a high-five. Violet smiles at her as she walks past. 

“Nice to have you back, Baby Spice.”

“Right, before we break, let’s just look at the first transition, now that the order is different. I want to make sure it’s smooth from the end of Violet’s hoop routine through to the start of Chi Chi and Katya. Let’s fly the hoop in please.”

Milk and Violet move to the centre of the ring. Trixie remembers from seeing the show that this is one of the most spectacular moments when Violet jumps from the hoop and Milk catches her. Now the order has changed, Katya and Chi Chi will simultaneously tumble out from the gaps in curtains. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Alaska.” Katya has walked up to Alaska. Chi Chi waits at the curtain. 

“We need to make sure the new order works, Katya.” 

“Yes, but the lights aren’t right. The distance will be too difficult to judge in these lights, we need Artem.”

Alaska huffs audibly. “It’s the middle of the day, Katya. We can all see just fine. And I want to get this done, Artem will take ages fussing.”

Katya frowns, “But—“

“Now please, Katya. Let’s not waste any more time.” Alaska turns away from her sister and walks to the edge of the ring, jumping the barrier and taking a seat on the bench. Katya swallows, tugs on her sweater and turns to follow Chi Chi through the curtain. 

Violet jumps up into her hoop and it’s raised up high above the ring. It’s not the highest she goes, the trapeze swings higher, but watching her, Trixie still feels a little queasy. Weirdly, Katya is right. The harsh working lights, and the daylight spilling through the doorway, make everything look different. It throws into sharp relief the distance Violet has to fall. 

Violet is marking through the end of her routine. Without the music, costume and Violet's flourishes to the audience, it has a more relaxed feel. It’s so intimate that Trixie feels weird watching, and she shifts her gaze to Milk at the back of the ring. Milk is watching Violet, waiting for his cue. He shifts from side to side a little, he looks nervous. He darts forward suddenly, as though decisiveness will take him to the right mark. Trixie wants to shout, to stop Violet before she releases the hoop. But it's too late. 

Bianca leaps to her feet next to Trixie. Milk is looking up and Trixie can see the realisation of his mistake across his face. There's no time. Violet is falling. Violet is falling, as though through treacle. She should be falling faster. She should already have hit the floor. Trixie can’t stop herself from imagining it; Violet sprawled in the sawdust, her limbs bent at stomach twisting angles. Time has slowed right down. It’s like a car chase in a movie, or some sort of action replay. Except, that’s not quite right, because time seems to have only slowed for Violet. At the back of the ring, Katya appears from behind the curtain, and she’s moving at normal speed. Her hands go up to cover her mouth. Adore screams. 

But then Chi Chi is there. Miraculously, Chi Chi has started her entrance early. She has flipped and cartwheeled to exactly the right place, directly under Violet. And she holds out her arms like it was always her plan, and Violet falls neatly into them. She is very still, Trixie wonders if she's fainted, but then she sits in Chi Chi's arms and puts her arms around Chi Chi's neck.

"Fuck." And she laughs a wavering huff of a laugh into the silence. 

There's a beat, and then a rush of noise. Katya is running across the ring. Bianca has her arms round Adore, whose breaths are coming in shudders as she repeats, "Oh my god. Oh my god," into Bianca's shoulder. Milk is standing, white faced and thin lipped. He's apologising, over and over. Katya looks absolutely furious.

"I told you! I told you he wouldn't be able to see! Shit, Alaska!"

Alaska looks horrified, her eyes are wide and her hands are shaking, but when she speaks, her voice is cold and unwavering.

"Well it can't have been that difficult, or Chi Chi wouldn't have been able to do it without any warning. Obviously Milk needs to practise. Are you OK, Violet?"

Violet nods and Chi Chi lowers her gently to the ground.

"You see, Katya? There's no need for hysterics," and she looks over at Adore pointedly. "But that's enough excitement for one morning. We'll try it again this afternoon. Jinkx, Trixie, let's look at your routine."

Katya gapes at her, her mouth is moving but no sound is coming out. Alaska walks past her, but Katya doesn’t go after her. Her cheeks are red and Trixie can see she’s fighting not to lose her temper. Trixie knows that she would already have snapped, and can’t help but admire Katya’s control. 

Trixie can hardly believe that no one is going to comment on what she's sure just happened. It doesn't make any sense. It would just be too lucky. Violet should at least have broken bones, perhaps worse. She fell too slowly. And that must also just have been a trick of the light, Trixie reasons, as around her the rest of the company gather their things and leave the tent. Physics, gravity, they don't work at variable speeds. It must just have been incredibly lucky. And Chi Chi has been with the circus a long time, she must have just followed her instincts. Violet looks a little shaken, but she’s laughing with Chi Chi as they leave. Milk looks worse. He doesn’t talk to anyone but seems oddly frozen, still standing in the centre of the ring. Katya walks over to him and he flinches as she gets to him, like he thinks she’s going to shout at him like she shouted at Alaska. But she says something quiet that Trixie can’t hear and, as she can’t reach his shoulders, she puts her arm around his waist and draws him backstage with her and, Trixie assumes, out of the tent. 

Trixie is relieved that everyone seems to want to take their break outside, leaving her and Jinkx some privacy to rehearse. Alaska doesn’t know the routine and has little interest in it, so she leaves them alone to work on it. Jinkx looks upset and Trixie puts her arms around her. They stand together for a little while, just letting the quiet of the empty tent calm their racing hearts. Trixie wants to ask if that’s happened before, and if Jinkx also thinks the narrowness of Violet’s escape is weird. It feels like a bad omen for Trixie’s first show that evening. She feels even more nervous than she did before the rehearsal. But Jinkx moves away from her and gives herself a little shake, as though shaking the memory of Violet’s fall from her mind, and smiles at Trixie. 

“Well, that was a bit horrid, wasn’t it? Still, no harm done, let’s get on.”

Trixie takes a deep breath. Jinkx is right; no one is hurt and accidents happen. They happen less often when everyone is properly prepared and rehearsed. It’s probably best to just get on with the rest of the day. Rehearsing with Jinkx is much less anxiety provoking than rehearsing with the whole company. The circus ring is just sawdust, it’s not staging. Trixie and Jinkx dance on four boards that are spaced around the edges of the ring. At times, they dance together on the same board, then they move and dance opposite each other on different boards. Trixie remembers nearly all of the steps and it feels natural and playful. Neither of them are particularly good. Jinkx isn’t precise enough with her movements and Trixie always throws herself a little too much into the moves. She’s often a little off balance, and Katya once described it as “rhythmic flailing.” But the dance is flirty and frivolous in a way that the knife throwing act most definitely isn’t. Moving together with Jinkx, grinning at the audience and feeling the music move through her body, makes Trixie feel sexy in a way that the poised, overacted damsel act never does. She likes feeling that she’s Jinkx’s equal too, that it’s something that they’re sharing with the audience. It’s much more like Katya and Chi Chi’s vibe, or Adore and Bianca’s, than Sharon’s cold stage persona. 

They practise until lunchtime, and then after they’ve eaten, it’s time to rehearse with Sharon again. Trixie’s brain feels a little fried, and she’s relieved when Sharon simplifies some of the tricks, just for the first few performances. Alaska watches from the ringside benches. She seems happy enough, certainly she compliments Sharon on how she’s put the routine together at short notice. The afternoon goes quickly and there are no more dramatic moments. In fact, everyone seems so relaxed about it that Trixie is starting to think her nerves about the rehearsal affected what she thinks she saw. Certainly, no one seems in any way worried about the performance, and when they run the change again it goes smoothly. Katya restrains herself to muttering quietly about the importance of working in the right lighting, but no one else comments. 

***

Katya has already done her makeup. She sits on the steps of the caravan, smoking and chattering away as Trixie tries to remember how to do winged eyeliner in a bathroom so small her elbows touch each wall. 

“So, Chi Chi is teaching me to breathe fire. It’s so fucking cool! It’s like, whoosh! You know?”

“Whoosh?”

“I mean, most of the time it’s more whoo-splutter-splutter-and then a coughing fit of epic proportions. But I’m getting better.”

Trixie raises her eyebrows. 

“I am! We’re gonna work in a flaming hoops bit, maybe off a springboard. I reckon I could get through three. But it will be a lot cooler if we make more of a thing of the fire.”

“I’m surprised you still have eyebrows.”

Katya cackles and relights her cigarette. 

“What sort of act did your Mom do?” Trixie has asked the question before she’s quite decided that it’s the right thing to do. Katya doesn’t answer straight away. She fiddles with her lighter, her short red nails worrying the flint. Trixie curses herself for asking such a stupid question. Katya obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, why would she, when she never has before? She clears her throat, tries to think of a way to backtrack that won’t be incredibly awkward. But then Katya answers. 

“All sorts. When we were little, she was part of a troupe from Romania. They were amazing, there were six of them, I think. I learnt from them. She did tumbling and balancing acts mostly. But they left when I was about eight. Then she was in a double act. She performed less once she’d had me and Alaska. She used to do more I think.”

“I wish I’d seen her.” Trixie tries to keep it honest and simple. 

Katya smiles. “I wish you had too. She was brilliant, Trix.”

Neither of them speak for a while. Katya finishes her cigarette and starts her stretches. Trixie finishes her make-up. Her preferred style is on the heavy side, with dark lashes and plenty of blusher, but her stage make-up is even more dramatic. She gives her lashes one more coat of black mascara and retouches her lipstick. The finished effect is overwhelming in the tiny bathroom but will look stunning under the lights. She has to stay so still in the ring; all the storytelling has to come from her face. 

“Looking fierce!” Katya calls. She’s in the splits with her hands linked behind her. The curve of her back pushes her breasts forward. They’re small. Trixie could hold one with just one hand, maybe. It would be so soft above the hard muscles of her stomach. 

“How are you feeling? Nervous?” 

Trixie blinks. “Uhh, nervous?”

Katya looks guilty, like she’s worried she put the idea in Trixie’s head. “I mean, not that you need to be, should be, I mean. You’ll be fine, more than fine. You’ll be... “

“Of course, I’m nervous! I’m amazed I’m not hurling right now. But I thought I’d save for the lucky folks sitting ringside, you know?” She’s only exaggerating a little. Her stomach does keep swooping unpleasantly and she keeps cracking her knuckles. But she doesn’t mind the nerves, they’re part of the deal. 

Katya is bent double now, her hands grasping the foot in front of her. She rocks a little into the stretch and turns her head sideways to grin up at Trixie. “That’s the spirit! Knock ‘em dead.” Trixie feels a flutter of excitement. 

***

Standing backstage and listening to the audience on the other side of the curtain, Trixie is feeling less excited, more terrified. They’re here for a week; the booking’s a good one and it’s going to be a full house tonight. She shifts her weight from side to side and concentrates on breathing steadily, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She’s aware of people moving past her but she keeps her gaze fixed on the curtain in front of her. She’s checked three times that the swords are laid out in the right order for her to pick them up. Her hair is sitting perfectly on her shoulders. There’s nothing left for her to do but wait until the lights dim and the music starts. She’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up. 

It feels like the last forty-eight hours have been a twister that’s just blown itself out and dropped her here. This is clearly a terrible idea. It’s been two years. If she adds up every coffee house gig and open mic night in that time, Trixie doubts she’s performed to as many people that are currently filling the big top. She’s convinced that everything, the whole routine, is going to just fall out of her head. There’s going to be no way to tell Sharon that she’s forgotten what she’s doing. She’s just going to have to stand stock still and get stabbed through the heart in front of an audience. Or maybe between the eyes. She’s trying to decide which would be worse when she becomes aware that Violet is standing next to her, checking her lipstick in her compact. Trixie resolves she will not let whatever undoubtedly catty comment that Violet comes out with affect her. She’s nervous enough, she doesn’t need mind-games. 

“How you feeling, Barbie? Ready to kill it?” Violet isn’t looking at her, she’s tilting her head and looking into her mirror. 

Trixie doesn’t know what to say. She gives the curtain in front of them a tight nod. 

“Good. You’ve got this. You beat that other girl we had out of the water. Don’t doubt yourself,” Violet turns and lies her perfectly manicured hand on Trixie’s arm. It’s warmer than she expected it to be. “That’s my job.” And Violet grins. 

Trixie tries to smile back. She thinks she manages it, but her face feels oddly numb, like the muscles won’t quite obey her. Trixie stares down at her feet and sees Jinkx’s white tights and tapshoes appear at her other side. She’s in the costume she always used to wear for the opening number, a leotard with a cut like Trixie’s but in powder blue. Jinkx takes Trixie’s hand and squeezes it tight. The music playing on the other side of the curtain gets louder. 

*** 

Time misbehaves onstage. The whole opening number feels like it’s happening in fast-forward. Trixie just about manages to be in the right places at the right times. Then as they’re holding their final positions, before the lights go out and the first act begins, time seems to freeze. Jinkx practically has to drag her backstage. Trixie waits behind the curtain, trying to keep her breathing even and not pace, as the audience laugh and applaud. Katya bounces off stage, dripping with sweat and grinning. 

“It’s a great crowd tonight, Trix. They’re going to love you!” 

Trixie doesn’t trust herself to speak. She just nods. 

They are a great crowd. The lights are blinding but Trixie doesn’t need to see them to know that they are totally enthralled. A detached sort of calm washes over her as Sharon slips her jacket from her shoulders and pulls her curls back to expose her neck. The atmosphere in the big top has shifted from the gaiety and noise of Bianca and Adore’s act to one of charged tension. Trixie tries to keep her every movement controlled. She can feel their eyes on her. She wants them to be as still as she is, it makes the impact of every knife more intense, more thrilling. 

The gasp from the crowd when she swoons into Sharon’s arms makes her stomach flip with excitement. Sharon’s green eyes are shining; she knows they’ve got the whole tent with them. Sharon reaches down and brushes Trixie’s hair gently back from where it’s fallen across her face. Trixie knows it’s just acting, but it still feels electric. 

When Sharon loosens the ties strapping her wrists to the wheel and she can step forward, the adrenaline surges through Trixie. She curtsies, Sharon’s hand gripping hers, and the applause rings in her ears. The act went well, really well. It’s not at its best yet, they’ll add to it over the coming weeks, making it more elaborate and impressive, but Trixie is proud of herself. Sharon looks pleased too, though she is keeping her mouth curled in a dangerous looking snarl for the sake of her character. They take a second bow and then Sharon leads her off, holding the curtain back gallantly. 

Backstage, Sharon smiles with genuine satisfaction. They are both standing tall and Trixie feels giddy. She wants to hug her, to run around in circles, to go back out and do it all again. Milk is out in the ring now; his music is loud with booming bass and Trixie lets the rhythm settle her jangling nerves. 

Later, when the last audience members are out of the gates and Artem shuts down the power, plunging backstage into darkness, Trixie is still feeling wired. She’s never experienced anything like the high she feels after performing. Not drink, not sex, not anger. It’s when she feels most alive and now, after just one show, she can’t remember why she ever gave it up. 

Ginger has lit the firepit again and has found marshmallows to toast. She’s in a good mood and everyone is taking advantage of it. Trixie is sat wrapped in a blanket with Adore, tipsy on beer and still performance-high. They giggle as they lick the gooey sugar from their fingers. Chi Chi is crouched over the firepit, toasting the marshmallows on a long skewer. As they get to a perfect, charred softness, she leans over and Trixie and Adore pluck them from the skewer, getting messier and messier as they wash them down with the beer. Talk is loud and boisterous, Trixie doesn’t bother trying to follow all of it. Katya is in a headstand across the circle, arguing happily with Bianca about the best way to notate juggling patterns. Sharon has gone to bed, and so has Alaska, but everyone else is here, and Trixie wants to talk with everyone. But for now, she’s content where she is. 

Bianca’s cackling laugh cuts across the noise of chatter. “Well, Miss. Yetkaterina, if you are going to invoke the spirit of your great-grandfather to win this argument, then I am going to consider it won and go the fuck to bed. I’m getting too old for this nonsense.” And she ruffles Katya’s hair fondly, bids everyone a goodnight and walks away to her caravan. Trixie watches as Katya runs her hand through her hair and cartwheels around the edge of the circle, coming to a stop next to her and Adore. 

“Room for one more?” She asks, though she settles herself next to Trixie without waiting for an answer. Trixie shifts over and offers her a beer, but Katya shakes her head. Trixie opens another bottle for herself and lets Katya lean against her. Chi Chi turns and offers them the skewer. Adore groans dramatically. 

“Oh God, no, if I eat one more I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Weak!” Trixie crows and reaches forwards, pulling marshmallow off the skewer clumsily and burning the tips of her fingers. Perhaps she is a little drunker than she thought she was. She sucks on them to dull the pain, letting the sugar dissolve on her tongue. 

“Alright there, Trix?” Katya and Adore are laughing at her. 

“I’m fine,” Trixie mumbles around her fingers, and they laugh again. 

“Good thing you don’t throw those knives, girl,” Chi Chi drawls. “You girls done?”

“Let me take a turn,” Katya volunteers and she gets up to kneel next to Chi Chi. Trixie’s side is cold without her bony shoulder pressed up against it. 

Katya eats the first skewer of marshmallows herself, citing quality control and toaster’s prerogative. She sucks on her fingers, hollowing out her cheeks and widening her eyes, making obscene noises to make Adore laugh. The second she offers to Chi Chi, now sitting the other side of Adore and watching the flames dance. 

“Whatever happened to long lost, returning to the fold prerogative?” Trixie asks, disgruntled. 

Katya grins, pushing the fat, pink marshmallows onto the skewer with quick fingers to avoid getting burnt. “I’ll do these special for you, sweet cheeks.” 

“I’m not sure I like sweet cheeks as a nickname, can we try sugar tits?”

“Sugar tits feels a little crass. What about rotted trash Barbie doll from the seventh circle of hell?”

“Gross,” Adore pretends to heave. But something about the firelight dancing behind her, casting her face cast in shadow, makes Katya look rather beautiful, all of a sudden. She turns back to the fire and Trixie watches her. The muscles in her arm look firm as she holds the skewer steady and her hair is sticking up at the back, no doubt because it’s still full of hairspray she hasn’t brushed out properly. Trixie feels exposed, though to what she’s not sure. Adore is talking, something about tomorrow’s show maybe, Trixie isn’t listening. It’s getting late now. It’s too early in the summer to be sitting out without a sweater on, but Trixie doesn’t want to move. She takes another long pull on her beer, then pulls the side of the blanket that Katya had sat on tight around her, holding it around her chest. 

Katya turns, shuffling on her knees across to them, the skewer in front of her like a haphazard fencing foil. She’s only been there five minutes and there’s already a streak of char on her forehead. Trixie’s chest feels full. She feels dizzy too; she should stop drinking. 

“You ordered sugar and gelatin molded into small cylinders with a melty, spongy consistency and a charred outside?”

Trixie giggles. “I can’t move my arms! It’s too cold. Feed me?” She knows she’s whining. 

Katya raises her eyebrows and Trixie huffs out her breath, sticking out her bottom lip shamelessly.

“Brazen hussy. And you’re a dreadful vegetarian.”

Trixie searches for a clever retort but then Katya is crowding her, holding hot, soft marshmallow to her mouth. She opens her lips, lets Katya push it onto her tongue. It’s too hot and she swallows quickly. 

“Ow! Too hot!” 

Katya laughs, pulling more marshmallow from the skewer. She blows on it, keeping her eyes on Trixie. Trixie opens her mouth and this time she sucks Katya’s fingers, keeping them in her mouth. She hums around them, the sickly-sweet sugar coating her tongue. She feels a little sick, but she doesn’t want Katya to stop. 

“You two are full on disgusting. Like, please get a room.” Adore is wriggling out of the blanket, shaking her head at them and trying to look disapproving. 

“You’re just jealous,” Katya says, her eyes not leaving Trixie’s face. 

“As if. Goodnight, losers.”

Katya pulls her fingers from Trixie’s mouth and eats the last marshmallow herself. Adore laughs at them, but it’s good natured, and she pats Trixie’s shoulder goodnight. Trixie feels a little silly. She watches Adore go as Katya tosses the skewer down and takes Adore’s place, pulling the blanket around them both. 

“I’m sleepy,” Trixie mumbles into Katya’s shoulder. 

“You wanna go to bed, rotted-trash-Barbie?”

Trixie pulls a face, wrinkling her nose. “No. I’m just sleepy. Let’s have another beer.” Trixie looks around for her beer. It’s empty. 

“Oh ok, I’m sorry.” 

Trixie shifts down a little. She’s taller than Katya, and honestly, trying to rest her head on her shoulder is pretty uncomfortable. 

“You want another beer, Trix?” Katya asks. 

“Nah, I probably shouldn’t.”

“Mind if I smoke?”

Trixie shakes her head and Katya wriggles a little, digging in her pocket for her cigarettes. Trixie gives in to tiredness and shifts down further, laying her head in Katya’s lap. Katya pulls the blanket over her and Trixie hears her light up. Trixie watches the ash fly up as one of the logs in the fire slips. Katya smokes slowly, her free hand in Trixie’s hair. It feels nice. Trixie lets her eyes close. She’s not falling asleep, she tells herself, just resting a little. In a minute, she’s going to ask Katya about Russian juggling notation. 

Katya shakes her awake. The mascara she took off lazily earlier has clumped and is sticking her eyes together. Her right foot has definitely gone numb. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed Trix. You ok?”

Trixie sits up, rubbing her eyes. The circle is half empty. Violet and Chi Chi have gone, Ginger and Artem are sitting across from them, speaking in quick, quiet Russian. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not long.” Katya pushes herself up and holds out her hand to pull Trixie up. “But it’s past your bedtime for sure. I’ve not had such good conversation since Adore went all method on developing her mime act.”

“Bitch! I’ve had a long-ass day.”

“Gotta do it all again tomorrow I’m afraid, sugar tits. You’re gonna have to work on that stamina.”

“Why are you so hateful?”

Katya shrugs, smiling. “If only I knew, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to settle for you as a best friend. I’d be able to aim a bit higher you know?”

Trixie laughs in spite of herself. “You are rotten to the core. Call me sugar tits one more time and I will make you wish your ancestors had never even heard of America and they’d stayed in Russian wrestling bears.”

“How did you know my great-great-uncle Adrik wrestled bears?” 

Trixie groans with frustration. Katya is too loud, too awake and too much. Still, she’s glad of Katya’s arm in hers as they cross the site to her caravan. She doesn’t really need the support, but she lets a little of her weight rest on Katya, and interlaces their fingers. When they reach Trixie and Jinkx’s caravan, Katya reaches up to open the door and Trixie hesitates on the bottom step. She wants to kiss Katya. She’s drunk and tired and Katya smells like woodsmoke and cigarettes. Kissing Katya would be a terrible idea. 

Katya stands on her tiptoes and kisses Trixie’s cheek, quick and soft. 

“Good night.”

“Good night,” Trixie echoes and Katya walks away. 

Trixie shuts the door of the caravan behind her and gets straight into bed. Jinkx’s curtain is drawn and Trixie pulls hers across. When she shuts her eyes, everything spins. Trust her to get drunk after her first show back. Maybe she’ll be able to blame the post-show adrenaline. Cringing, she wonders how many people watched her suck marshmallow off Katya’s fingers. She desperately hopes Violet had already gone to bed by then. 

Katya had called Trixie her best friend. Trixie doesn’t think she’s called anyone her best friend since her and Kim used to work at the mall back home. They would spend all their lunch breaks together playing with make-up and talking about what they’d do when they finally left. Kim had gone to college in Chicago and Trixie can’t remember the last time she saw her. 

Katya probably didn’t mean it anyway. They were both far too old for best friends. Trixie thinks about those little necklaces you can get, two halves of a pink heart or interlocking glittery dolphins, “best” on one and “friends” on the other. Trixie imagines one for the two of them, maybe a crossed cigarette and dagger, or a guitar. The ridiculousness of it makes her feel better. Trixie’s just drunk and feeling emotional because it’s been a long day and she’d been so nervous earlier. 

She rolls onto her side and tells herself firmly to go to sleep. She doesn’t think about Katya, the firelight behind her, making a halo of her messy blonde hair. She doesn’t think about how making Katya laugh thrills her like nothing else. She certainly doesn’t think about kissing Katya, or about how thinking about kissing Katya makes her throb. You don’t kiss your best friend; it tends to mess things up. Trixie really doesn’t want to mess this up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed a week! I'm out on tour again and life has been super busy, but hopefully I will have more time to write over the next month. 
> 
> I'm risewhereshadowsfall on tumblr if that's your thing :)

The next morning, Trixie wakes with a foul, sweet fuzzy taste in her mouth and a dull headache that lasts until lunchtime. Thankfully, no one seems that bothered about how drunk she’d been last night. Certainly no one mentions it, and when Trixie sits next to Violet on the bench outside Ginger’s to eat their cereal, they only talk about the show last night and how pleased Violet is to not work with Sharon anymore. 

Sharon herself is also in a good mood. They run the routine straight through and Sharon only has tiny notes for Trixie, most of which are about remembering to emphasise her natural sensuality. Annoying but not unexpected. They work on juggling, and Sharon decides that it’s better, but not yet good enough to go in the show. This is perfectly fine with Trixie. As the morning goes on, it’s harder and harder to forget the performance that evening and the nerves that come with it. 

After lunch, it’s Trixie’s first box office shift. There doesn’t seem to be anything new to learn. Jinkx shows her where everything is in the tiny trailer and Trixie settles herself on the stool by the window. Jinkx offers to stay with her, but Trixie waves her away. Working box office alone might be boring, but to be honest, after the last few days Trixie could do with a boring afternoon by herself. Jinkx is more than happy to go back to sitting in the sun. 

Business is fairly steady, in a quiet sort of way. People stop by to buy tickets both for tonight’s performance and the rest of week, and Trixie writes each transaction in the ledger and answers the same three questions over and over again. Does the circus have animals? Will there be popcorn for sale? And is the circus all in Russian? No, yes and no, Trixie answers each time with a practiced smile. 

Alaska is in her office, but she’s working and doesn’t bother Trixie. About an hour into her shift, Sharon comes into the trailer and walks straight through into Alaska’s office without knocking, something that Trixie doesn’t think she’d ever dare to do. She expects some sort of explosion behind the flimsy door, but there’s nothing. Trixie forgets Sharon is in there after a while. 

Trixie is glad of the lack of interruptions. Jinkx comes around with a green tea for her, but otherwise she is left alone, for the first time since she arrived at the circus. She is nervous about the performance tonight, but not unbearably so. She guesses that the real nerves will kick in about an hour before the show, so she tries not to dwell on them now. Instead, her thoughts are mainly focused on Katya and how glad she is that she didn’t kiss her last night. 

Not that the idea of kissing Katya is a bad one. Trixie can’t pretend, even to herself, that she hasn’t thought about how Katya’s sharp cheekbones might feel under her thumbs, or what Trixie’s pink lipstick would look like smeared on her lips. But it would have been a terrible idea and she’s so thankful that she managed to keep herself in check. Trixie isn’t always the subtlest of flirts. She feels her cheeks heat a little as she remembers Katya’s fingers in her mouth, the cool grey of her eyes watching her, with amusement? With lust? Trixie isn’t sure and the not knowing doesn’t sit well with her. She likes to know where she stands. 

But apart from the obvious but unavoidable fact that Katya is part owner of the circus, and therefore Trixie’s boss, there are more complicated reasons why she shouldn’t kiss Katya. Reasons like why Katya described her as her best friend, despite not having heard from her for two years. And how small Katya had looked, surrounded by silks and velvets, on the floor of her caravan, and the tears that had threatened to spill down her cheeks. Katya seems lonely, and Trixie feels awful about it, about leaving the way she did and not even trying to keep in touch. Not that Katya, with her aversion to mobile phones and lack of postal address made it easy, but Trixie knows she could have tried harder. That season had been one of happiest, least complicated times of Trixie’s life, and she has a feeling now that she took it for granted. She’s signed a contract for a year with the circus and she makes a vow to herself not to let a messy rebound fuck up her summer. Katya is a good friend, and Trixie can be a good friend back. 

After the show that evening, Trixie ignores Chi Chi’s gentle teasing and goes to bed early. The show went well enough, the buzz isn’t quite as intense as last night, but that’s just second show syndrome. The audience were with them, Trixie didn’t miss a mark and she’s already looking forward to tomorrow night. She’s very glad that last night’s performance wasn’t a fluke, but she’s not stupid and she knows she’s out of practice. They’ll be a time when she can do eight shows a week, drink every night and not feel the physical toll, but it’s not now. 

For the rest of the week, Trixie works hard. She rehearses every day, naps in the afternoon when she can and doesn’t drink after the shows. The sun shines and the audiences are even better than expected. Big audiences mean everyone feels a little flush. Alaska leaves the door to her office open and makes loud, self-important phone calls to the venues in the towns ahead. Katya and Jinkx spend a whole afternoon choreographing a dance that “takes Katya’s strong feelings about hair scrunchies and interprets them for the masses” and Trixie lays out on the grass, watching and occasionally delivering constructive criticism. They perform it that evening for the group and Chi Chi laughs so hard she spits beer all over herself. Ginger makes a huge, layered cake soaked in a honey syrup and they eat it between the matinee and evening shows on Wednesday. 

On Thursday, Trixie wakes early. She slips out quietly, with just a sweater over her pyjamas, so as to not wake Jinkx and heads to Katya’s in search of coffee. To her surprise, Violet is already there, sat on the steps and drinking coffee out of one of Katya’s mugs. Katya is sat on the grass, her legs stretched in a wide V in front of her, waving her cigarette in the air. 

“Honestly, Violet, can’t you feel the change?”

“What change? Is there coffee, Kat?” Trixie asks. Violet moves to the side to let Trixie past her. 

“Yeah, in the pot.”

Trixie fills herself a mug and leans in the doorframe. “What change? Are you worried about being a werewolf again, Katya? I told you, your craziness doesn’t have anything like that sort of lunar efficiency.” 

Katya shrieks with laughter and Violet smiles up at Trixie. 

“Exactly my point.”

“No, it wasn’t. You didn’t even make a point! You are powerless in the face of my overwhelming hard evidence,” Katya points her finger at Violet in a way that could be aggressive, if Katya wasn’t also nodding her head so enthusiastically. 

Violet arches her eyebrow. “Hard evidence?”

“What are you talking about?” Trixie asks again. 

“This one-woman fan club of yours is just waxing lyrical about how much better things are now that you’ve graced us with your presence again.”

“The circus feels—” 

Trixie cuts her off. “Katya, if you’re going to say that the circus is happy to have me back, then I swear to God…”

“But it is, Trixie! Honestly, you haven’t been here. The last three months have been shit, haven’t they, Violet? 

Violet hesitates, she looks like she doesn’t want to encourage Katya, but then she says, “Well, yeah.” 

“Remember that week that the generators failed nearly every day? And when we all got lost in Virginia and we practically had to work through the night to be ready in time for the show? And, Trix, the week before you came, Ginger made nothing but boiled potatoes. Every day, Trix. And you know there’s nothing that reflects the state of things better than what Ginger feels like cooking.”

Violet barks a laugh. “God, that was a tragic week.”

Trixie feels oddly flattered that Katya seems to believe that simply by re-joining the circus, she’s single-handedly transformed their fortunes, even though it’s patently ridiculous. 

“But Katya, that’s just life on the road. There’s bound to be good weeks and bad weeks. I mean, I know I’m a benevolent force for good in the universe and all, but really, I don’t think I wield that sort of power.”

Katya shrugs, bearing her teeth in an infuriating smile. “Believe what you want. It’s not your power, it’s more, I don’t know, it’s deeper, it’s,” she flaps her hands about, searching for the words, “I’ve lived all my life in this circus, I know when she’s happy. And she’s happy you’re back.”

“She?! Is this circus some sort of sailing vessel?” Trixie is reaching the end of her patience. 

“Alright, enough of this.” Violet cuts across Katya’s reply firmly. “Trixie, I wanted to talk to you.”

Trixie feels a little thrill of apprehension and shifts uncomfortably where’s she standing to look down at Violet. She wonders what she’s done wrong, Violet doesn’t take kindly to disruption to her routine, perhaps she distracted her, or maybe last night’s opening number wasn’t good enough. 

“Relax, Mattel. God, you look like I’ve got a gun to your head.”

Trixie leans back against the door frame with a determined nonchalance and takes another sip of coffee to avoid answering Violet. Katya has moved into some sort of sun salutation routine and seems to have lost interest in them. 

“I wanted to warn you about Sharon.”

“Sharon? I can handle Sharon.” Is this some sort of power move on Violet’s behalf? Trixie worked with Sharon for a whole season, she doesn’t need advice from someone who was essentially a substitute. 

“I bet you can. I just, look, she was sleeping with Jennifer, the girl who came after you left. I mean, none of my business, I know. But then, when I was working with her she definitely made a pass at me a couple of times. It was, well you know her style. It was pretty gross.” Trixie grimaces in sympathy, and Violet continues, “It’s just not professional. And it definitely fucked Jennifer up a bit, she was all over the place by the time she left. And I didn’t think you were that sort of girl, I mean, not the sort of girl to jeopardise your performance. I know how hard you work.” Violet runs out of steam, looking like she wished she hadn’t said anything at all. 

Trixie knows just what Violet means. Sharon had always skated a little close to the edge, taking the intimacy between their stage personas into rehearsals to “make things natural on stage.” It always set Trixie’s teeth on edge, but there was something intoxicating about her. Her sensuality ran close to the surface and there was a charge to her that Trixie couldn’t deny was attractive, in a predatory, nasty sort of way. 

“Just, don’t take any bullshit that you’re not fully feeling.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Violet.”

Violet shrugs. “I don’t want you to up and leave, is all. And that’s nothing to do with Katya’s happy clappy voo-doo. You’re good, Mattel.”

Trixie feels a rush of warmth towards Violet. She’s always intimidating, always exacting, but she’s just as much part of the circus as Katya is. They’re some sort of cousins, Trixie is pretty sure. Violet has also spent her whole life in the circus, though perhaps Violet trained abroad? Trixie can’t remember, but at the end of the day, Trixie knows that Violet’s biggest concern is that the performance is good, everything else always comes second. Trixie likes that about her. She agrees; there’s no money, no stability and definitely no work-life balance in a travelling circus. The motivation has got to be the performance, every time. 

“Sharon isn’t Trixie’s type.” Katya interrupts Trixie’s thoughts. She’s standing now, digging another cigarette out of the carton and looking agitated. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Sharon isn’t your type, Trixie. You’d never go for her.”

Violet chuckles. “Oh really, and what is her type, Yekaterina?”

Katya shrugs, lighting her cigarette. “Not sleazy Sharon, that’s for sure. Trixie has higher standards.”

“Too right I do, bitch! Apart from that one time, in that bar in Kentucky, do you remember?” Trixie grins at Katya, but Katya looks a bit distracted. 

“Awh, Katya, are you feeling left out? Count yourself lucky you’ve never had to work with a partner who’s ideal warm up is groping your ass backstage.” Violet is smiling, but there’s an edge to her voice. 

“No, Vi! I didn’t mean, I just meant… Trixie likes recording producers with studios and women with apartments.”

Now Trixie and Violet are laughing and Katya’s blushing, avoiding their eyes as she stuffs her lighter back into her bra. 

“Bitch! What are you on about? You’re making me sound a little obsessed with real estate there.” 

But Katya changes the subject and starts yammering on about breakfast and whether Ginger will be up yet. Trixie has finished her coffee and, seeing that Jinkx has opened her curtains, goes back to her caravan to get dressed. 

Thankfully, over the next few weeks, Sharon doesn’t do anything more untoward than usual. They rehearse most days, getting Trixie confident and adding flare and elaborating their basic act. They work in the pass juggling, and Trixie practises relentlessly with Katya in the afternoon before the show. She works herself up about it so much she drops four knives in their last run through and she almost tells Sharon she’s not ready, but Katya convinces her to go for it and in performance she doesn’t drop one. 

The first move they do, at the end of that first idyllic week of sunshine, leaves Trixie aching and sore and still not sure what her job is. But by the time they’re in their fourth town in Ohio, working back west towards Indiana, she’s finding her rhythm. She sits in passenger seat of Katya’s jeep every move they do. She’s retrieved the road atlas from Alaska’s office and she writes a neat list of the towns they’re stopping at and the miles they cover on the back of a flyer, tucking inside the front cover. Jinkx knits another couple of inches of scarf and sleeps a lot, officially released from navigating. One time, after Bianca and Adore have a row, Adore rides with them. She spends the whole drive bitching about how Bianca’s always on her back and does she think she’s her mother, she didn’t run away from home to be mothered by a mad clown with no sense of humour. By the time they’re all sitting around the fire that night, sweet exhaustion weighing down Trixie’s limbs, they’ve made up and spend the whole time cackling at jokes that no one else understands. 

Now that she needs to rehearse less, Trixie has more spare time. She spends it mainly with Jinkx and Katya. She likes to listen to them read each other’s tarot. It doesn’t make much sense to her and she doesn’t believe in it anyway, but she likes to lie on her bunk and half read a magazine, half listen to their increasingly bewildering interpretations of the card’s meanings. She doesn’t write any new songs, but she does pick up her guitar a few times, strum through some old ones, singing only to herself. 

* * *

“Katya, you have to talk to Alaska about this.”

Katya is just smoking, staring at the sky. 

“Katya!”

“Violet, please. Katya will talk to Alaska. Just please, calm down.” Jinkx’s voice is tense and careful. 

Violet’s eyes flash and Trixie feels everyone’s tension levels rise another notch. 

“I will calm down when this mess is sorted out. Talk. To. Alaska.”

She turns sharply, her ponytail flicking behind her, and stalks away. Katya doesn’t get up. She’s sat cross-legged outside her caravan. Jinkx and Trixie are sat on the steps. They’d been chatting about whether there would be time to stop off on the drive tomorrow and have lunch by the edge of Lake Erie. Violet had interrupted them, looking absolutely furious. Apparently, the next town they were in had been selling really well and had offered an extra show, tomorrow night. It would mean doing the strike straight after the show and driving there tonight. It’s not impossible, it’s only about an hour away and the sun will just be setting as the show finishes. They’ll do the take down under the tower lights and arrive just past 1am. But they’ve already done eight shows this week, because of two mid- week matinees, and this will definitely break contract.

“Surely Alaska has to run this sort of thing past you, Kat?”

“She should do,” Jinkx answers for her when Katya says nothing. 

“I’m sure she’s just not thought about it,” Trixie tries to be generous. Truthfully, she’s pretty sure Alaska will have thought about it and decided that she doesn’t care. 

Katya hums non-committedly. Jinkx looks worried. She hates both conflict and unfairness and Trixie can see she’s wrestling over how much of a fight to put up. 

“Are you going to talk to her?” Trixie asks so that Jinkx doesn’t have to. 

“Oh, you know Alaska,” Katya says airily. “She doesn’t change her mind. There’s no point. But I will,” She sighs and gets to her feet, “just to keep Violet off my back. If I don’t get out alive, wear red to my funeral and weep absolute buckets.”

She walks away to the box office trailer. Jinkx and Trixie wait on the steps. There’s no sign of anyone else onsite. Violet must have gone back to her caravan. Trixie imagines everyone is probably in their caravans, quietly seething. Tonight’s show will probably be a nightmare and Trixie vows to warm up properly and not let herself get distracted. They don’t have long to wait before Katya is walking back across the site to them. She looks resigned. 

“What did she say?” Trixie asks, as Katya throws herself down on the grass. 

“Ugh. Loads about cash flow and reputation and business sense.”

“Nothing about working hours and contracts and whether or not we could just refuse to do it?” Jinkx asks, though there’s no real bite to her voice. 

“People won’t refuse to perform. Everyone knows these things happen sometimes. And it’s not like Alaska won’t be working too.” Katya’s tone is dismissive, though there’s a crease between her eyes and she’s biting her lip. 

“Alaska needs to remember she’s not running this show solo.” 

Trixie doesn’t say anything. It feels like this is a conversation that they’ve had before, and she doesn’t want to go in blind before she knows more. 

“She knows that,” Katya says quickly. “But everyone will understand. I’ll talk to Vi. We’re a family.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’m sure Alaska wouldn’t have agreed to it if it wasn’t the best thing to do.”

“Exactly,” Katya nods, and her frown clears. “She knows what’s best for us. She must be right, I never could get my head around cash flows.”

Trixie is surprised. She’s not surprised at Alaska, she’s pulled similar stunts before. But didn’t Katya put up more of a fight before? And wasn’t Jinkx more encouraging? It wouldn’t be the longest, or the most difficult, shift that Trixie’s ever done, but she’s still annoyed and not looking forward to doing the strike in the dark and the late night. 

“Well, if we’re taking all this down tonight, I’m going back to bed for a bit,” she declares, trying to keep most of the annoyance out of her voice. 

“Good idea, Trixie,” Jinkx says mildly. “I’ll join you.”

Katya waves them off with a cheery, “Sleep tight, my little darlings! Keep those energy levels up now!” But when Trixie’s kicked off her jeans and wriggled out of her bra under her shirt, she takes one quick look out of the window before pulling the curtains closed. Katya is still sat on the grass, staring up at the sky. 

Katya is right. When it comes to it, everyone just gets on with the show. Even Violet, though she’s frosty backstage and doesn’t say a word to anyone. Sharon, by contrast, seems to be in a better mood than usual. Unfortunately, this manifests in her wanting to talk to Trixie as they wait backstage. As Trixie’s not done anything with her day except nap, she’s forced to listen to Sharon’s whispers about knife sharpening techniques. She tries to tune her out to stay focused. 

The take down is predictably tedious. Even though everyone’s working as fast as they can, doing it in the dark slows them up, and it’s past midnight before they’re on the road. There’s no traffic, and they drive in convoy. Katya chain-smokes and keeps turning the radio up. Trixie eventually has her fill of the Saturday night club remixes and changes the station, finds something with more acoustic guitars and songs with real verses. Katya smiles when Trixie sings along quietly under her breath. 

They put the fencing panels up in a daze. By the time Trixie falls into bed, it’s gone two in the morning and she’s asleep almost before her head hits the pillow. 

The extra show the next day is almost a sell-out, and the rest of the week is busy too. Alaska is smug, Trixie can see she has no time for feeling guilty when the box office takings are this good. When they collect their little pay envelopes on Friday morning, there’s an extra $20 in each one. 

“From Katya and I, just to say thank you for last weekend,” Alaska explains, with a broad, toothy smile. 

It’s about the only good thing to happen all week. 

On Monday, Trixie broke a guitar string, the only one she doesn’t have a spare of. On Tuesday, Bianca and Adore had another massive row, the origins of which Trixie never fully understood. Adore got wasted that evening and threw up everywhere. They don’t make up until Thursday. All week, there doesn’t ever seem to be enough of anything, and Ginger is bad tempered about it. She pre-empts criticism of her limited menu with biting sarcasm and no one dares comments, but Trixie is glad of the little stash of chocolate that she has hidden in her rucksack. 

Trixie has another box office shift on Saturday afternoon. She walked into town in the morning and bought herself a magazine to read; the last box office shift of the week is notoriously quiet because the circus is about to move on. Sure enough, when she checks the ledger, tickets for tonight are nearly sold out already. She flips to the album reviews, thinking of spending her $20 bonus on a new CD for the jeep. 

She’s wondering how receptive Katya would be to the new Sheryl Crow album, or whether she’d have better luck with Shakira, when Sharon comes in. She doesn’t say anything to Trixie, just walks straight through to Alaska’s office, again without knocking. 

“I thought you were never coming,” Trixie hears Alaska say, before Sharon closes the door behind her. 

It’s strange, but not strange enough for Trixie to think about for long. She folds down the corners of the pages with her shortlist of albums, and flicks back to the interviews. Sheryl is looking moody and sexy and Trixie spends the rest of her shift day dreaming about meeting her by chance. They could end up on the same tour of cities, maybe, keep running into each other in smoky bars. Maybe she’d invite Trixie back to her hotel room and they’d jam together, (Trixie would have her guitar with her, obviously). 

Later that evening, after the show, Chi Chi tries to foster some company spirit and convinces Ginger to light a fire. Everyone has been low level irritable all week, but there’s a resigned sense of camaraderie that is strangely comforting. It’s quiet, no one talks much, but most people are there. Bianca is reading, Adore is painting her nails and Violet, Jinkx and Katya are talking about old times, reminiscing about being taught maths by a terrifying sounding strongman with a moustache almost as big as his face. 

Trixie is tired and bored by a conversation she can’t take part in, but she doesn’t want to be the first to go to bed. They’re sat on the floor again, and Trixie gives up all pretence of listening to Violet’s retelling of how she always used to copy Katya’s long division even though she knew it would be wrong. She settles herself more comfortably against Katya, putting her head in her lap again like the night she got drunk. Katya shifts a little under her, laughing at Trixie’s disgruntled noises. 

“Shush, you! You’ll make my feet go to sleep!” But then she settles and rests her hand on Trixie’s shoulder. Her hands are always so warm, Trixie can feel it through her sweater. She watches the fire and lets the chatter wash over her. 

“Well, I’m going to bed.” Alaska speaks loudly, addressing the circle as if they’ve all been talking together. As far as Trixie knows, Alaska’s just been sat next to Ginger, not talking to anyone. 

“I want us to be on the move early tomorrow please, let’s keep the momentum of this week going.” Trixie rolls her eyes at Katya’s knees. She hears Alaska get up and walk around the circle towards them. Then, “I hope my sister isn’t making you feel uncomfortable, Trixie?”

Katya’s hand flexes sharply on her shoulder. 

“What?” Trixie is confused. She’s sure she must have misheard. 

“You want to be careful, Yekaterina. Remember you are Trixie’s boss here. You don’t want to get a reputation—” 

“A reputation?” Katya interrupts. “Alaska, what the fuck are you—”

“It doesn’t send a great message,” Alaska continues smoothly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Papa always said staying professional was the key to running a happy company.”

Trixie is tipped sideways as Katya goes to get up, but Jinkx has a firm grip on Katya’s wrist. Trixie sits up, smoothing down her skirt and not looking up, in case her fears of everyone staring at them are confirmed. 

“I remember just what Papa—” Katya starts, but Alaska has walked away already. 

“What died up her ass today?” Violet asks, coldly. 

“That was certainly out of order,” Jinkx agrees. Katya’s eyes are closed, she’s gripping Jinkx’s hand hard. There’s an uneasy quiet around the circle now. Bianca loudly asks Ginger if she wants any help with breakfast and Ginger starts listing the tasks she could delegate, “if any of you lazy so-and-sos fancy being good Christians for once.”

“She can’t talk to you like that, Kat. Jinkxy, back me up.” 

Jinkx looks anxiously between Violet and Katya. “Something must have upset her. Katya? Are you OK?” 

Katya opens her eyes. She smiles at Trixie, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I don’t make you feel uncomfortable, do I, Trix? You know sleeping with me won’t get you anything but a lingering sense of disappointment and passive smokers’ breath, right?”

Trixie tries to laugh. “Of course not! Katya, fuck her she’s just—” but Trixie doesn’t know why Alaska would insinuate that Katya was being inappropriate. “I mean, not if you were the last person on earth, frankly. Can you imagine that red lipstick you wear, it would clash so badly with my entire make up palette, it wouldn’t even be funny. And girl, no offence, but you don’t even know the difference between TLC and Destiny’s Child.”

Katya grins, looking relieved. “Yeah, I have never even heard of her. Yeah, fuck her. She’s obviously smoking something harder than I am.”

Unless Alaska knows what Trixie has been stopping herself from thinking about, late at night, safe behind her curtain. Katya, with the firelight flickering behind her. Katya, laughing. Katya’s hand in her hair. But how could Alaska know any of that? Trixie feels sick with guilt and embarrassment. 

“Fuck her,” Katya says again. She lights a cigarette, offers the pack around distractedly. They listen to Ginger’s kvetching. Katya doesn’t put her arm around Trixie again. Trixie sits with her arms around her knees; it’s starting to get cold. When Katya’s finished her cigarette, Jinkx suggests bedtime, and Trixie gratefully agrees. It takes her a long time to fall asleep. 

Topping the week off, they wake the next morning to continuous, heavy rain. It shows no sign of stopping and everyone is keen to move on and leave the bad luck of this town behind them, so they do the take down anyway. Trixie avoids Alaska and tries to avoid Katya too. But Katya gets spectacularly tangled in the sodden silk banners as she tries to fold them, and Trixie has to rescue her. They all get soaked through, but it feels good to pull the strapping down tight over the flatbed and sink into the jeep’s passenger seat at last. Trixie peels her wet jeans down her thighs awkwardly and wraps one of Jinkx’s scarves around her knees. 

“Good riddance!” Jinkx calls, as they pass a sign that says, _You are now leaving Cloverdale, Ohio. Thank you for driving carefully._

“Rotten, hellish place.” Katya agrees. 

But it’s strange, Trixie thinks, because nothing this week has been the fault of the town. There were places that were unfriendly, or sometimes downright hostile, but really the town itself had been welcoming enough. It was bad feeling amongst the group that had dogged them all week. 

Trixie keeps such thoughts to herself and just hopes that the next week will bring better moods all round. 

* * *

Over the next few days, no one mentions Alaska’s strange outburst. Trixie’s almost annoyed, because she can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe if people would talk about it, she could find out what people thought and stop replaying it over and over. The idea of everyone thinking that’s she’s in love with Katya, that that’s the only reason she came back, makes her cringe. Or worse, people thinking that Katya makes her feel uncomfortable. And neither is true, but she knows that if she goes around declaring that, she’ll just draw attention to herself and Trixie feels self-conscious enough. Life in such a small company can get monotonous; she knows the thrill of new gossip when you see the same faces every day, and she doesn’t want to give people anything to talk about. She tries not to be left alone with Katya, but on Tuesday, Katya lets herself in to Trixie’s caravan before breakfast and sits on the end of her bed, regales her with a long account of last night’s dream. 

“And then, boom! She was a fish. A full on, gills, fins, scales and everything, fish. So of course, I put her back in the bucket and loaded everything back on the van to drive back to the lake. And what do you think happened when I got there?”

Trixie pulls her blanket tighter around her waist. She’s thanking whatever Gods there are that she’s wearing her least sexy pyjamas. Katya did at least bring her coffee, but she’s drunk it now, and she wishes she had something to do with her hands. Jinkx is still asleep, she’ll sleep through anything. 

“Trixie!” Katya whines, “you have to listen, or it won’t make sense!”

“It doesn’t make any damn sense anyways, Katya.” 

“Bitch! There is a strong narrative here. That’s why I’m telling you, I want you to write it up into a ballad. The ballad of Katya and the talking, shapeshifting, magical fish-bird.”

Trixie snorts with laughter. “We might need to work on the name, but sure. Go on.”

“Ok, so I get to the lake, and it’s not a lake, well it is, but it’s kinda on fire, you know? Just lava and flames. So, I have to explain to the fish, and she’s pretty pissed.”

“Well, you would be.”

“Yes, exactly! You would be, I’m glad you’re with me.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Trixie raises her eyebrows, but Katya ignores her. She goes on with her story; it somehow becomes even more ludicrous and convoluted. More than once, laughter bursts out of Trixie so loud she smacks her hand over her mouth to quiet herself, worried about waking Jinkx. Katya talks quickly, waving her hands about, leaning into Trixie, gripping her thighs through the blankets to make particular points. 

Inevitably, as happens with most dreams, Katya’s story finishes with ends left untied everywhere and very little resolved. 

“It’s going to need a tragic ending if we’re going to turn it into a ballad.”

“It’s more of a parable, I think, for modern times,” Katya pauses, “I should have made you take notes. Can you remember how it started?”

“Don’t you dare!” Jinkx’s voice comes through the curtain. “I’m not sitting through all that nonsense again!”

And Trixie swears she can feel the caravan move with how hard they laugh. 

Convinced now that things between her and Katya are as normal as they’ve ever been, Trixie finds herself back thinking about Alaska. Alaska and Katya. Because something is wrong, Trixie is sure of it. She’d never claim to really know Alaska. She’s private and has never been as at ease with the rest of the company as Katya. But Trixie is sure something has changed between the sisters. They were supposed to be a team. When Trixie had first joined the circus, they’d both interviewed her. Now she thinks about it, it’s strange that Alaska didn’t even consult Katya about Trixie coming back. They used to take it in turns to run company meetings, and while Katya’s had always been a little less focused, Trixie doesn’t think Katya has addressed them all as a company in the six weeks she’s been back. 

She mulls it over for a few days, and then, when she can’t keep it in anymore, she asks Jinkx about it. 

“Jinkx?”

“Yes, dear?” Jinkx is sitting on her bed and she looks up from her knitting.

“Did Katya and Alaska argue?”

“Today? No, I don’t think so. Alaska’s gone offsite with Sharon I think, they left after breakfast.”

“No, not today. I meant before I came back.”

Jinkx frowns and starts knitting again. 

“Well, yes. They probably have argued at some point in the past. They are sisters.”

Trixie hates that it sounds like she wants to stir up trouble, but she’s not going to be put off now she’s started. 

“It’s just that something feels strange, different between them. Things are different. And last weekend, what Alaska said to me…” Trixie trails off. Jinkx is knitting slowly, like she’s settling on what to say. 

“Yes, that was rather strange, and not very nice of Alaska. I know it upset you.”

“It upset Katya too.”

Jinkx signs and nods her head. “It did. She really hated the thought of making you feel… did you talk to her about it?”

“Katya’s my best friend,” Trixie says quickly. 

Jinkx smiles and Trixie doesn’t meet her eyes. 

“Katya is very dear to me, Trixie. You know that. I know you care about her, but well, they’ve been through a lot. And they both take running our little home very seriously.”

“Something has changed.” Trixie knows she sounds stubborn. “And if you don’t want to talk to her about it, then I will.”

Jinkx purses her lips. Trixie can’t read her. 

“I know you’re all family. I don’t want to start any arguments. I really don’t.”

“You’re right,” Jinkx says heavily. “This past, maybe six months? Something’s not right between them. I’ve asked the cards, but they’ve not given me a clear answer. And I think Katya would listen to you. So maybe you should talk to her.”

Trixie feels like she’s getting Jinkx’s blessing, but for what exactly she’s not sure. She knows that as a non-family member, she’s got no real place questioning the relationship between the Zamolodchikova sisters. She’ll always be an outsider to a certain extent. And yet, perhaps that makes her the best person to do it. Trixie remembers what Jinkx said about Katya mourning her mother. 

That night, after the show, Katya throws her arms around Trixie. 

“Great show, Trix! Didn’t you think? I loved it, I feel like I could run a marathon!” She throws her head back, her teeth are so white, her collarbone glistens with sweat. 

Trixie agrees, it was a good show and she feels buoyed up too. 

“Be my guest! If you’re heading offsite, could you pick me up a bottle of white wine and some chocolate please? I’ll be in my trailer.”

Katya mock curtseys. “As the star demands, so she shall receive. Would you also like twenty nubile virgins to feed you grapes?”

“Ugh, no. Virgins are not my kink and I’d much rather strawberries.”

Katya smirks. “Should have known you’d like a more mature lover.”

Trixie can feel herself blushing and she quickly changes the subject, before she loses her nerve. 

“Actually, Kat, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh, sure. Your place or mine?” Katya winks, her eyeliner is smudged and Trixie fights the urge to press her thumb to it. 

“Yours?”

“Sure, sure. Have you seen my bottle of water? I’m actually going to pass out if I don’t hydrate.”

In Katya’s caravan, they both change and take their make-up off. The quiet and cool of the caravan is welcome after the stuffy heat of the big top. Trixie has almost convinced herself out of mentioning Alaska and is wondering what she could invent to distract Katya. But she turns to see Katya sitting, cross legged on her bed with her chin in her hands, looking at Trixie with such a disarmingly open face that it’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself. 

“Something is off between you and Alaska.”

It’s not what Katya was expecting. She sits up, starts biting on her nails, and frowns at Trixie. 

“I mean, something has changed. Have you argued?”

“Is this about the other night? Trixie, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why she said it.”

“No, I mean, yes, a bit. Listen, if this is out of line then please just tell me to fuck off. But, Kat, she’s treating you like shit since I came back.”

Katya is looking up at her with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. She looks comical and Trixie pushes down the urge to make goldfish jokes. 

“No, she isn’t.”

“Then what was the other night about? And why is she making decisions and not consulting you, overriding you in front of everyone? Like that time Violet almost died on my first day, you told her it wasn’t safe and she just ignored you.”

Trixie is aware she’s being relentless, and she tries to give Katya a bit of space. She’s already brushed her hair out, but she pulls it out of the messy bun to do it again, turns away from Katya to the mirror. 

“Alaska is just doing what she thinks is best for the circus, for everyone, Trixie. She works really hard.” Katya is speaking uncharacteristically slowly. Trixie can’t tell if it’s because she’s upset or angry. 

“I know she does. We’re not saying—”

“Who’s we?” Now she does sound angry. Trixie curses her stupid mouth. 

“I mentioned it to Jinkx. She’s worried about you too. And I’m sure Violet would be if she experienced emotions the way the rest of us do.”

Katya doesn’t laugh. 

“I know Alaska can be a bit of a pain, but she’s my sister, Trixie. If you’ve got a problem with how we run things, then you should talk to both of us together.”

This is really not going how Trixie had hoped it would. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Trixie takes a deep breath and turns around. She fights to keep her shoulders relaxed and her voice quiet and steady. “Katya, I’m sorry. This is not coming out how I meant it to at all. I was just worried because things seem different and I thought, maybe, you would want to talk about it or something. I know you love her, I’m not questioning that, but as your friend, I have to say I think she’s out of line recently.”

“Yes, OK. She’s been a bit of a bitch recently. I’m sorry, I know you’re only looking out for me.” Katya smiles and Trixie feels her chest loosen a little. “But honestly, Trix, it’ll work itself out. I know it will.”

Trixie tosses her hairbrush into her make up bag and sits beside Katya on the bed. 

“Did you see that in a dream or is your third eye playing up again?’” 

Katya grins. “I know you think I’m a kook, but it’s more than that. The circus has its own magic, I’ve always been able to feel it, and that magic had always protected my family.”

Katya has a burning, intense look in her eyes. It’s the look that Trixie knows that if she wants a quiet life, she should just humour her and change the subject. But she’s had enough of these half conversations laced with whimsy. 

“What do you mean by magic? What do you mean when you talk about this circus like it’s sentient? I used to think that you were joking, but you’re not, are you?”

Trixie hopes she is joking and Katya smiles at her pityingly, like she knows what Trixie is hoping and is sorry to disappoint her. 

“It’s sort of complicated and sort of, well, simple, I guess. The circus looks after itself. You know it’s a family circus?”

Trixie nods. “The name kinda gives it away.”

“Well, yeah. So, the circus was started in Russia by my mother’s great-grandfather. But before that, they were horse trainers I think, that’s what the first acts were anyway, horses and bears and stuff. So, my family, we’ve always been able to feel, like, the mood of the circus? Because if the circus is happy then we’re safe and we have enough food and money and things go right, and if it’s not happy then there’s not enough food, and the audiences are bad, and things go wrong.”

Trixie can’t help but think that Katya’s just describing luck. Either that, or the circus as some sort of all powerful goddess that demands blood sacrifices. She’s almost sure that would be ridiculous, even to Katya. “But how? How do you keep the circus happy?”

Katya opens her mouth, closes it again. She holds her hands out, fingers spread wide, and waves them around like she’s trying to conduct five orchestras at once. “It’s just a feeling, my mother had it, and my grandmother. We know where to book shows, who to work with, that sort of thing. It’s about honouring the old ways, keeping tradition, looking after each other.”

“And what does Alaska think about this feeling?” Trixie can feel the conversation slipping away from her. 

Katya grimaces. “She’s doesn’t like to talk about it. Papa always said Alaska was sharp as a tack and she was born to be ringmaster. Ever since she was little, she would beg to wear his hat and she’d strut around the place, ordering us all about. She never really had time for talking about the magic. But she knows it’s there, she definitely knows.” 

Trixie nods, though she’s hardly convinced. She’s never witnessed Alaska do anything that suggests she believes in honouring tradition or looking after the company above profits. 

“Alaska always wants what’s best for us, Trixie, she just expresses it differently. Mama always said—” but Katya swallows thickly and doesn’t finish her sentence. 

“I’m sorry, Kat.” Trixie says, quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Mama would hate to see us argue,” Katya continues, ignoring Trixie. “She’d never let us go to sleep angry at each other. When Papa died, she used to say that it eased her sadness, knowing that we’d have each other, that we’d look after the circus together. She said it was safe with us.” 

A tear spills down Katya’s cheek and she wipes it away furiously. Her chest is flushed, and her lips are wet, shining from how she’s licking over them, swallowing down more tears. Trixie reaches across the bed and puts her hand over Katya’s. Her hands are bigger, easily covering Katya’s, and she gently strokes her thumb over the back of Katya’s hand. Trixie’s freckles are coming out now that the days are getting longer. 

“I know I never got to meet her, but I’m sure your Mama would want you to talk to Alaska.” Trixie says gently. She suspects it’s a low move, invoking what Katya’s mother might want, but she’s pretty sure she’s right. 

Katya nods, but she won’t meet Trixie’s eyes. 

“You’re right, I’ve got to trust in the circus. We’re both looking after it, and it will look after us. It’s like Mama and Papa watching over us.”

That’s really not what Trixie meant, but she can’t think of any way of saying so that won’t sound cruel, so she just tightens her grip on Katya’s hand. Katya chuckles lightly. 

“I know that’s not what you meant, idiot. But I think things will work out. They always do.”

“Don’t let her shut you out, Katya.” Trixie says firmly.

“I won’t.” Katya turns her hand in Trixie’s so they are palm to palm, and she interlocks their fingers. “Thanks, Trix.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this tour has been way more hectic than I thought it would be and has not left me any time to write at all! 
> 
> But I am not abandoning the circus! Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they make me super happy. I'm risewhereshadowsfall on tumblr, if that's your thing.

Trixie tries not to dwell on her conversation with Katya. She’s not entirely sure it was successful, and she feels a little embarrassed about it now. Katya doesn’t seem bothered by it. She doesn’t mention it for the rest of the week and Trixie wonders if the whole thing will just pass over and she was silly to have made such a thing of it. But then, on Friday morning, Trixie is sat on the steps to her caravan, picking through the chords to Landslide on her guitar, when Katya appears in front of her. 

“Let’s go, seize the moment, this is it.” Katya looks agitated. She reaches for Trixie’s hand and pulls her up. 

“Good morning to you too,” Trixie replies. “Can I ask which moment we’re seizing?”

“This very moment, of course.” Katya steps back, surveys Trixie with a frown. “Maybe don’t bring the guitar? I don’t think it’ll help.”

“Katya, come on. Back to earth please.” Trixie returns her guitar to its case and turns back to Katya with her hands on her hips. 

Katya grins. “The moment to talk to Alaska, of course. I had a dream last night. Lots of it is probably irrelevant and there’s another whole narrative arc that I’d like to explore with you after lunch, if you’re free. But the pressing point is that today is the day to seize the moment and reconnect with my sister. And in the dream, you were there, so you have to come.”

This was not what Trixie had in mind at all. She really doesn’t want to look like an interfering trouble maker and she can’t see how hovering behind Katya for what should definitely be a private conversation can result in anything else. But it doesn’t seem like she’s going to have much choice about it, Katya has hold of her hand and is striding across site to the office.

Alaska is sat at her desk, feet up and a sheaf of papers in her hands. She looks up, annoyed, when Katya and Trixie come barrelling through the door, and the look doesn’t fade when she sees who it is. 

“Good morning, Katya, Trixie. Is there a fire?” She arches her eyebrows in a way that suggests she’d prefer there to be a fire than for Katya and Trixie to have disturbed her for any lesser reason. 

“Alaska, I’ve been thinking, and I had a dream, but that’s not important, the thing is, I’ve been thinking, things have been strange between us recently and I think we should talk?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Katya. Strange how? Are you upset about something?”

“No! Well, yes. I thought you were upset, maybe. I feel,” Katya takes a deep breath, “I feel like you are shutting me out of running things, that you are taking too much on yourself and not respecting me as your sister and your business partner.”

Trixie’s impressed, and also gets the impression that Katya has been practising that line in the mirror all week. She wants to hold Katya’s hands and stroke the back of them with her thumbs until the tension in her shoulders relaxes. She folds her arms to stop herself from reaching for her, then worries she looks confrontational, so forces them back to her sides. 

Alaska doesn’t answer straight away, and Trixie can feel Katya practically vibrating with the effort of not continuing to ramble. 

“Well,” she says finally, drawing the word out so as to wring every drop of disapproval out of it. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Yekaterina. Perhaps we should talk about it. I don’t think Tracy here needs to hang around, I’m sure she’s got something better to be doing?” She lifts her gaze from Katya to Trixie and her eyes are cold. 

Trixie opens her mouth. She wants to agree and leave them to it, but she bristles at the dismissal and she doesn’t want to abandon Katya. 

“Trixie’s here as my second, my mascot.”

“Mascot? I’m sure she’s thrilled.” Alaska arches her eyebrow at Trixie.

Trixie blushes. 

“But seriously, Katya, what do you mean? Things have been going really well this season. We’re making good profits, drawing bigger audiences than last year, we’re solidly booked until the autumn.”

“Yes, yes. No, it’s not that. I know the audiences have been good, but I don’t have a good feeling about—”

“Oh Katya, you and your feelings!” Alaska laughs, but it’s warm laughter and Katya smiles ruefully. 

“My feelings are right, more often than not.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t find them all that useful when it comes to the practicalities.”

“It’s just, I don’t know, Alaska. I feel like you’re… we’re not thinking about what the circus wants? I know you work so hard and you want the best for the company, for our family, but maybe, we’re losing track of what works best for the circus?” Katya is shifting her weight from side to side, reaching behind her head and gripping the back of her scalp. In contrast, Alaska is still sat at her desk. She’s put her papers down and is sitting perfectly still, looking at Katya like she’s barely speaking English. 

“Katya, you know none of that made any sense? The best for us, the best for the company, the best for the circus, it’s all the same thing.”

“I’m not sure it is,” Katya answers eagerly. “I’m not sure, because the circus thinks much more slowly, you know, it thinks about things further into the future, and it remembers, it remembers everything. And I think it would want—“

“Katya, I’m busy. I don’t have time for this nonsense about what the circus wants. The circus can’t want anything and the sooner you forget those childish games and focus on being an adult with responsibilities, the happier you’ll be.”

Katya’s face falls. Trixie feels torn between agreeing with Alaska and wanting to slap her. Yes, Katya’s ideas are a little far out, but they come from a good place rooted in kindness and fierce dedication. And just because she describes things a little, well, strangely, doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a point. Trixie isn’t sure she dares say this though. She tries to think of a neutral and yet firmly on Katya’s side way of phrasing “Alaska, you’re being a bitch.”

“Okay, okay, so you don’t have to believe in the magic, Lasky. I know you never really liked talking about it. But please believe me, the circus is unhappy and it’s only going to get—“

Alaska interrupts Katya with a harsh bark of laughter. 

“I’m sorry, Katya. But even if I did believe that we lived in a magic circus, which I don’t, I’d hardly think that you were the one who knew what made it happy or unhappy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Trixie can’t help but snap. Alaska has stood up, as though to signal that she’s ready to end the conversation, but at Trixie’s words, she turns to her, eyes flashing with anger. 

“Oh, Trixie, you’re still here. It means that Katya gave up any right to lecture me about what the circus wants when she went AWOL for the best part of two years and left me totally on my own.”

“Lasky,” Katya almost whispers it. 

“No,” Alaska answers sharply, turning back to Katya. “After Mama died, you just checked out. You did nothing! Just sat in that caravan and moped. I did everything! I ran the tour, I ran the site, I got new acts in, I kept everything from just falling apart. Without me, we’d have nothing. You think Ginger wasn’t ready to take off and retire? You think Violet wouldn’t have gone back to Europe? Who do you think convinced everyone to stay?”

Katya is crying; silent tears streak down her pink cheeks. Trixie steps towards her, standing as close as she can without actually touching her. She feels like if she touches Katya, Katya might just collapse into her. 

“So, forgive me if I haven’t got time for your fairy tales.”

“The circus is unhappy.” Katya mumbles. She sniffs and angrily wipes her face. “It’s unhappy, Lasky. And you know it.”

Alaska’s anger seems to have subsided a little. She moves round in front of her desk and stands in front of Katya, but she looks at her with frustration, more like a parent than a younger sister. 

“Katya, you need to move on. Mama and Papa are gone; we’re not little kids anymore. We don’t live in a magical circus. We live and work in a real, wonderful circus that needs to keep adapting. I want to shake things up.”

“What does that mean?” Katya asks.

“Well, I’m figuring that out.”

“Let me help you. Let me do it with you.” Katya’s voice is small.

“I need to be able to count on you, Katya. I need to know that you’re on board.”

“Of course you can count on me!” Katya says sharply. “You’re making out like I’m trying to sabotage you!”

“I don’t think that,” Alaska says quickly, reaching out her hand for Katya’s. 

Katya pulls away. “Don’t! Don’t do this. I’m sick of you treating me like I’m a dead-weight. I’m sick of being punished like a child.”

“I’m not punishing you. Kat, I miss her too.”

“Well, you’ve got a strange way of showing it.” And before Alaska has the chance to reply, Katya is bolting out of office, leaving the door swinging behind her. 

Trixie is rooted to the spot. Alaska is staring after her sister, breathing hard. Trixie wants to just disappear. 

“Aren’t you going to go after her? Spend the rest of the afternoon bitching about how horrible I am, how much better things would be without me?” Alaska’s voice is painfully steady.

“No, I— Alaska, I don’t—“ 

“Fuck off, Mattel.”

Trixie fucks off. 

Outside, the sun is harsh, and colours are too vivid. Katya is nowhere to be seen. Trixie curses under her breath and hurries across the field to her caravan. The door is shut, and she stands on the top step and knocks urgently. 

“Katya! Kat, are you in there? Please let me in. Kat?”

But there’s no answer. The curtains are drawn, and Trixie has no way of knowing, short of just barging through the door, if Katya is even in there. She puts her hand on the door handle but hesitates. If Katya is in there, and wanted to see her, she’d open the door. She listens hard, but there’s no sound from inside. Slowly, she puts the tiniest amount of pressure on the handle. It doesn’t move. She pushes harder, but it’s obviously locked. 

“Katya?” she calls for a last time, just in case, but again there is no answer. 

Trixie sighs and turns to face the rest of the site. Where else could Katya be? Trixie runs through a list of places, each sounding more unlikely than the last. She could have gone offsite, into town, but Trixie doesn’t think so. Katya only leaves when she absolutely has too, and never alone. Trixie doesn’t think she’d go to Violet, more likely Jinkx. Or Ginger, she is family, but perhaps that would put Katya off. She’s just decided to try Jinkx and turned back to their caravan across the field when someone calls out to her. 

“Trixie! There you are.” It’s Sharon and Trixie curses again. She’d forgotten that she was supposed to meet Sharon for a rehearsal over an hour ago. Katya’s determination to drag her along to Alaska had completely driven it from her mind. And now Sharon was stalking across the field to her, looking furious. 

“Where have you been? I’ve spent nearly an hour looking for you.”

“I’m sorry, Sharon, I just lost track of time. Have you seen Katya?”

“No. It’s not cool, Trixie, we’ve wasted nearly the whole morning.”

“I am sorry, honestly. Do you want to work now, or later, because I—”

“I’d rather not waste my whole day,” Sharon says archly, and she turns to walk to the big top. Trixie hurries after her. 

“Yeah, of course, that’s great. I just need to find Katya first.”

Sharon reaches out and grips Trixie’s wrist, pulling her along. 

“I’d really rather we rehearsed now, Trixie.” Her grip is strong, and Trixie is so shocked that she doesn’t even try to twist out of it. Sharon’s hands are large, with long, bony fingers that close easily around Trixie’s wrist, even though she’s taller and bigger than Sharon. 

There doesn’t seem to be any point in arguing with her. Sharon certainly hasn’t waited for a reply and Trixie feels like a school girl, being marched to the principal’s office for something that wasn’t her fault and knowing that no one was going to listen to her. Inside the tent, Sharon has set up the equipment and even in the sunshine, she’s got Artem to power the lights up. They were supposed to go over the juggling routine and a new trick they’re working on, one where Trixie is strapped to a board that’s wired up to register the impact of the knives as they hit. With each knife, the lights around the edge will flash and Sharon wants to do it almost in pitch darkness. Before they can add it into the act, they need to finalise the pattern she’ll throw in. 

“We haven’t got time to do the juggling now, you’ll have to do that in your own time. I’m sure Bianca or Chi Chi will have time to help you.”

Trixie doesn’t really think she needs help, but she just nods. 

“So, let’s get you on the board.”

Trixie stands against the wooden board and holds her arms up and out. Sharon uses the leather buckled straps to secure her wrists and ankles. Trixie tries to say that it’s unnecessary to strap her down so thoroughly just for rehearsal, but Sharon ignores her. Trixie’s pretty sure she gets off on it, having Trixie need to wait to be released, and gross though that thought is, Trixie doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of commenting on it. 

They work through a couple of different patterns. Trixie zones out a little. These are the least interesting routines, as far as she’s concerned, and Sharon is clearly still cross with her, so she’s not even asked her opinion on what they’ve tried.

“Sharon! I need to talk to you.” Alaska’s voice rings out across the tent and Trixie turns her head quickly to the entrance. 

“For fuck’s sake, Mattel. Stay _still,_ can’t you?” 

Alaska is walking down the aisle in the benches towards them. Trixie cringes as Alaska looks past Sharon to see her. Her face is unreadable at this distance, but Trixie would bet that Alaska doesn’t look happy to see her. She tries to adapt a casual expression, though she’s aware that it’s undermined somewhat by the ridiculous position she’s in. She assumes Sharon will unstrap her, even hopes that this interruption will mean the end of their rehearsal, so she can go and find Katya, but Sharon doesn’t move towards her. In fact, she just smiles a sickly smile at her and says, “You don’t mind hanging on a moment, do you, Barbie?” And she actually has the audacity to turn her back on Trixie and walk Alaska over to the front row bench across the ring.

It’s not even properly private, they’re sat right in Trixie’s eyeline. At first, Trixie is too angry that Sharon has left her here like a prop to take any notice of them. She wriggles a little, tries to slip her wrist through the strap, but it’s too tight. She can only hope that Alaska won’t keep Sharon long. When she looks back over to them, she is surprised to see Alaska curled into Sharon’s chest. Sharon’s arm is around her shoulder and her other hand is holding one of Alaska’s. Trixie doesn’t think she’s ever seen Alaska look so vulnerable. Alaska never settles down next to the fire and shares a blanket with anyone. She never hugs anyone backstage, when the adrenaline is flowing and the applause fills the tent. But now she’s letting Sharon hold her while she speaks, looking agitated and upset. Trixie knows that Alaska wouldn’t want anyone seeing her like this and she feels another wave of anger at Sharon for leaving her here. 

Trixie can’t make out what Alaska saying, but she’s sure it must be about Katya and the row earlier. She strains to listen, tries to block out the noise from outside. 

“… family… Mama… I don’t… as if I didn’t… and she…”

Alaska looks up and glares over at Trixie and Sharon follows her gaze. Trixie tries to make it look like she’s staring at the ceiling, but she knows it was obvious she was trying to listen. She doesn’t feel guilty, they have just left her here after all, but she definitely doesn’t want to be drawn into the conversation. Thankfully, Sharon stands and walks over to her. 

“I think we’re done for the day, don’t you?”

She releases the straps at Trixie’s wrists and stands back, watches her as she bends awkwardly to unfasten the straps around her ankles. It’s one of her favourite ways to make Trixie feel clumsy and normally Trixie doesn’t let it get to her, but today, after being forced to wait like a fucking servant girl, the embarrassment turns her stomach. She feels like she might just burst into tears and she swallows hard, determined not to show Sharon how upset she is. She just wants to find Katya, so she can apologise for stirring up all this trouble. 

“Just make sure you warm up properly tonight. You seem very distracted.” Sharon steps back and Trixie has to stop herself from running out of the tent. 

She forces herself to walk at a normal pace and doesn’t look at Alaska once. The tent seems at least three times bigger than it ever has before, but she’s finally out in the bright sunshine. She stands, staring out across the field, not sure now what her next move should be. She realises she’s breathing hard and her hands are shaking. She wonders if she found Katya, whether she’d give her a cigarette. It seems oddly appealing right now. She wants something to do with her hands. She clenches and unclenches her fists, each time trying to visualise the tension draining out of her. It works a little. 

It’s nearly past lunchtime, if she wants any of whatever Ginger’s made, she’ll have to go now. She’s not hungry but perhaps Katya will be there. She’s not, of course, and no one has seen her. Trixie eats just enough of the stew and bread Ginger gives her so as not to appear rude and goes back to searching for Katya. She’s not in her caravan, or at box office, or hiding in the dark backstage. She’s not with Jinkx or Violet, because Trixie finds them both sitting with Chi Chi. Finally, when she’s about ready to scream, she notices that Katya’s jeep is missing. 

“She must have just driven into town, Trixie, my darling. Did you two have a falling out?”

“Into town? Yes, I guess that must be it. No, well, no I don’t think so.”

Jinkx frowns. “Did you talk to her about Alaska? I did warn you she wouldn’t want to talk about family stuff. Sometimes these things are best left to work themselves out.”

Trixie just wants the whole stupid lot of them to fuck off. She spends the rest of the afternoon in her bunk, with the curtains drawn. She waits until the last possible minute to get ready for the show and she ignores Sharon’s instructions from earlier. Rather than stretch and spend time relaxing and concentrating her mind on the show, she digs out her Discman and plays Garbage too loudly through her shitty headphones. She shrugs a hoodie over her costume so she can cross the now busy field unnoticed and she ducks into the dim, stuffy backstage space. Heads turn as she enters but thankfully, no one tries to talk to her. 

Katya is in the far corner, sat with her legs spread, stretching out her neck. As she rolls her head down onto her chest from side to side, her hair falls over her face. Chi Chi is next to her, doing similar stretches. They’re not talking but when Chi Chi jumps up, she holds her hand out to Katya to pull her up and into a quick hug. Trixie doesn’t want to talk to Katya right before the show, she knows she can’t afford to be any more distracted that she already is. When Katya looks up and sees her, awkwardly loitering by the door, she just smiles tentatively and mouths, “You ok?”

Katya returns her smile and shrugs, then nods, biting her lip. 

The show is not great. There are no disasters and probably the audience leave happy. They certainly cheer and applaud, gasping in all the right places. But the something about the rhythm feels wrong. In the ring, Trixie feels detached, like she’s watching Sharon’s knives fly from somewhere high in the rig, hanging from Violet’s trapeze perhaps. With each dull thunk of the knives embedding themselves in the wood, Trixie feels herself flinch like she never normally does. She holds eye contact with Sharon, she has to, but there’s no connection there and she feels scared for the first time since that first week that she’ll forget her moves. But the routine finally comes to an end with no mistakes, and as they leave the stage, Sharon holds the curtain back for her like she always does. 

Trixie waits quietly for the finale, out of the way. She can’t tell who has noticed the weird atmosphere and who hasn’t. Milk and Adore seem oblivious, they are play fighting like they’re in a silent movie, occasionally earning themselves a whispered reprimand from a smiling Bianca. Violet never really talks backstage, and Sharon often stands outside, smoking. Alaska is definitely on edge. She’s making every entrance just a second too early, so the whole performance feels jerky. 

At last, she’s back in the ring, Sharon on one side of her, Jinkx on the other, taking their final bow and waving goodbye to the crowd. Backstage, Trixie walks straight over to Katya. 

“I looked for you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Where did you go?”

“Just for a drive.” Katya sounds defensive and Trixie tries to soften her face. 

“Did it make you feel better?”

“Nah, not really. You want a drink?”

Trixie really, really does.

They sit behind Katya’s caravan, leaning against the big back wheel, almost shoulder to shoulder. Katya has a bottle of Jack Daniels and they take turns taking swigs from the bottle. Trixie’s earlier urge to smoke has gone, but Katya is smoking steadily, methodically, never letting the ash grow longer than a centimetre, flicking it with her short nails. Trixie’s eaten so little, she feels the effects of the whiskey quickly. It warms her, loosens her shoulders and makes the sun, setting orange against the big top, look unbearably beautiful. 

When Katya grinds her second cigarette out on the tyre, Trixie tells her about Sharon making her an unwilling audience for her conversation with Alaska. Katya is satisfyingly scandalised to hear that Sharon left her strapped to the board and cusses her out colourfully. She’s also as surprised as Trixie was to hear about Alaska showing anyone she was upset, let alone Sharon. 

“Maybe my sister is finally getting some?” she wonders, passing Trixie the bottle. 

“Gross. Maybe? Perhaps Violet should’ve warned Alaska about Sharon’s wandering hands, not me.”

Katya snorts. “Maybe. I reckon she’s big and ugly enough to look after herself.”

Trixie nods, then says what she’s been working her way up to saying all evening.

“Katya, I am so sorry. I really didn’t mean for you to argue. I should never have gotten involved. Please, forgive me.”

Katya looks at her with pity in her eyes and a sad smile and Trixie feels like an idiot.

“Oh, honey. It’s not your fault. You were right, I did need to talk to her. I didn’t think it would go like that, but that isn’t your fault.”

Trixie doesn’t know what to say. She’s not even really sure she does think the argument was her fault, but she does wish she’d been able to stop it escalating, when all she did was give Alaska an audience to play to. 

“I wanted to slap her,” Trixie confides with a nervous giggle, and Katya grins. 

“Well, I’m not sure who I’d put my money on there.”

“Bitch! I’m from Wisconsin.”

“Sure, so you can drink more than is healthy and hunt bratwust in the snow or whatever. Doesn’t mean you’re a match for my sister. Bear wrestling, remember?”

“Rude.”

“Not that the idea of you defending my honour isn’t hot, Barbie, don’t get me wrong.”

“Ruder!”

Katya cackles and Trixie shoves her shoulder. Katya’s floppy with the whiskey and she sways, bumping back against Trixie. It almost feels normal, and then - 

“Maybe if they’d lived longer, my parents would have just left the running of the circus to Alaska, I’m no good at it.” 

“Katya! Don’t say things like that!”

“Why not? It’s true.” Katya takes another long pull on the whiskey. Trixie pulls the bottle from her and sets it down on the ground so she can take hold of Katya’s hands. They’re cold.

“It isn’t true. It isn’t, Kat. You’re the life and soul of this place. You are!”

“Huh. Maybe.” Katya scoffs. “But I’m no leader.”

“You are,” Trixie insists. “You’re thinking about what’s best for everyone. You’re thinking about what your parents would want. That’s important.”

Katya just shrugs. 

“If you’re going to get maudlin, I’m cutting you off.”

“Hey! Last time you got drunk, you used me to feed your sugar addiction and then fell asleep on me. Cut me a little slack, can’t you?”

Trixie has been making a point of not thinking about that evening, and she’s not about to start. Not with Katya shuffling closer to her, pressing up warm against her side now. Not when Katya’s eyes are swollen from obviously crying all afternoon. Trixie made a promise to herself that she would be a good friend to Katya. So even though Katya’s nudging at Trixie’s arm, encouraging her to loop her arm round Katya’s shoulders and let her rest her head on her chest, Trixie is not going to do anything other than be that friend. 

“What are you gonna do?” Trixie asks the top of Katya’s head. 

“I don’t know.”

That Katya won’t say that _the circus will work it out_ is sitting heavy in Trixie’s stomach. She doesn’t know whether to say it or not. The absence of even a hint at the magic from everything Katya’s said all evening feels like a void between them that she doesn’t know how to fill. 

“I’m sure,” Trixie says eventually, breaking the quiet, “I’m sure we’ll all be fine. The circus,” and she’s not sure where’s she going with this, whether she’s got the nerve to say what she knows Katya would have said this morning - “the circus has been fine for nearly a hundred years. Those costumes, these caravans, they’re made of strong stuff, Kat.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I do.” And Trixie does, though not quite in the way Katya wants her to believe. 

“I’m so scared I’m going to let them down.” Trixie doesn’t know if she means the rest of the company, her parents or her ancestors. Probably all three. 

“You won’t, I know you won’t,” she sooths, softly. 

Trixie presses a kiss to the top of Katya’s head. Her hair smells of hairspray and smoke and her jasmine perfume. It’s overwhelming, and Trixie closes her eyes. They sit quietly, passing the bottle a few times, but mainly just watching the flashing slivers of light through the fence from the passing cars. Eventually, Katya sits up. She rolls her shoulders back and grimaces at the stiffness in her neck. 

“You should go to bed.”

“Only if you want to,” Trixie offers, but she is tired. They’ve half emptied the whiskey bottle and she knows she’s going to feel it as soon as she gets up. 

“It’s late,” Katya says, “And tomorrow is new day, Barbara. Another day, another dollar. Another chance at the American dream. Another brick in the wall.” 

Trixie hauls herself, not particularly gracefully, to her feet. Sure enough, her head seems to be just a split second behind the rest of her and she sways a little. 

“Exactly. Eloquent as ever.”

They walk round to the door of Katya’s caravan. Trixie doesn’t want to leave her, but she knows that sleep will do them both good. She hugs her tight. Katya is just short enough to fit her head under Trixie’s chin. It’s rare for Katya to stay still long enough to be properly hugged, and Trixie breathes in and out slowly, trying to will peace into her for the rest of the night. She likes how much bigger she is, how she can envelop Katya’s wiry body. It feels like keeping her safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update!! This is so overdue, and who even knows when I will get the next chapter written but I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> The burn is still pretty damn slow, but perhaps we are getting somewhere!
> 
> Updated rating for some sexy content, but nothing too explicit.

Over the next week, Trixie tries hard to will everything to go on as normal. She wakes before Jinkx and goes over to Katya’s caravan every morning. They drink their coffee on the steps, watching the rest of the site wake up. The sun is up well before they are now, they’re well into June and halfway across Indiana. Sometimes Violet joins them, and Katya lies on her back in the grass, looking up at them and blowing her smoke straight up at the blue sky. Trixie is growing to appreciate Violet’s quiet contemplation. Now that she’s less scared of her, she realises that her quiet is only part calculated to be intimidating. It’s also because she never says anything she doesn’t mean. So, when one morning Violet follows her to breakfast after Katya has said she’s not hungry again, Trixie is ready to listen. 

“Katya’s still pretty cut up about that row with Alaska.”

“What row?” Trixie asks carefully. She knows she not going to get away with playing dumb. 

Violet rolls her eyes, “Come on, Trixie. Nothing stays secret round here.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Alaska is hiding something.” 

Violet says it casually, but there’s nothing casual about the fierce look in her eyes. Trixie is wary. 

“You think?” 

“Yes. I don’t know what it is, but she won’t be able to hide it for much longer. We’re family.”

Trixie isn’t sure whether Violet means to sound threatening or sentimental. Either way, she can’t help but think she’s right. 

As far as Trixie knows, Alaska and Katya still haven’t spoken. Trixie sees Alaska every night for the show, of course, but she never spends any time with them afterwards. She doesn’t sit round the fire with them, or on the night that there’s light summer rain, she’s not squeezed round the table in Ginger’s truck, playing cards and passing a bottle of vodka between them. Trixie doesn’t really like vodka, especially neat, but you don’t refuse Ginger, and Katya crows with delight at the faces Trixie pulls when she swallows. 

Katya hasn’t mentioned the argument again, and Trixie doesn’t want to be the first to bring it up. She’s still embarrassed that she even got involved in the first place. Perhaps this is just the sort of argument that’s bound to flair up when you run a business with your sister. It’ll probably rumble on for another week or so, but the summer is too busy for tensions to last that long. And then, on Sunday morning, before they pack down and move on to the next town, Alaska proves Violet right. 

The sun is bright, the morning cloud cover has already burnt away. They’re standing in their company circle in the shade made by the big top. Katya is barefoot, and Trixie watches her toes, and her chipped red nail polish, flexing in the grass. At first, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, and Trixie is only half listening. She’s trying not to draw attention to herself in front of Alaska. She doesn’t fidget and lets Alaska’s endless droning about vehicle access at the next site wash over her. 

“And I know this is earlier than we’d usually do it, but I think some acts are due a bit of a shakeup.”

Trixie looks up sharply, and she’s not the only one. Everyone around the circle is listening now. 

“I just don’t want things to get stale when everything is going so well,” Alaska continues. “Sharon’s got an idea for a new trick, Trixie, so you can start working on that this week. Bianca, any ideas for keeping things fresh?”

Bianca raises her eyebrows. “Alaska, we only added the wine section a couple of months ago.”

Alaska nods, like she’s trying to show Bianca she’s listening. “Yes, totally, and it’s great. But I think we should always be working on new ideas. Your bit in the opening number has been the same for a long time now.”

“It sets up our characters and the relationship between us really well. The audiences love it. There’s no need to change it for the sake of it.” Bianca is holding eye contact with Alaska. Trixie doesn’t envy Alaska; Bianca is not an easy person to convince. 

“I think what Alaska is saying,” Sharon cuts in smoothly, “is that she wants you to develop something new.”

Heads swing round to Sharon. She’s standing next to Alaska, close, almost shoulder to shoulder. Her black jeans are tight, and her vest shows off the tattoos down her pale arms. Sharon never seems to tan. She looks unbothered by the attention now on her; her shoulders are back and she’s standing tall. 

“Thank you, Sharon, but I speak both English and Russian. I understood her perfectly, I just disa—”

“If you understood her, then I’m sure you’ll do as she asked,” Sharon interrupts, “as she is your boss.” 

Bianca draws in a breath and frowns, as though she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard. She looks furious. Alaska’s cheeks are flushed. She reaches out and takes Sharon’s arm, almost as if to pull her back. 

“Babe, it’s ok,” Alaska tries to say it quietly, but the group is silent and Trixie hears every word. Sharon deflates a little. 

“Please think about it, Bianca, Adore. We’ve got a big couple of months coming up and I want everyone on their toes. Chi Chi, I want you to keep working with Katya on incorporating fire, ok?”

Chi Chi nods, and Alaska smiles, showing her teeth. Her eyes are flitting around the circle, ignoring Bianca’s steady stare. Katya doesn’t react. She is staring at the ground. Trixie wonders for a moment if Alaska is going to call her out for not listening, but she doesn’t. Alaska must realise the that the atmosphere is already strained enough. 

“Ok, great.” Alaska is trying to inject some chirpiness into her voice. It doesn’t really suit her, Trixie thinks. She sounds like a cheerleader trying pep up her squad before a game they all know their team will lose. “I know everyone is working really hard and I just want us to keep pushing for new and exciting performances that will really wow our audiences this summer. So, if there’s nothing else anyone wants to talk about, let’s get this site struck and get on the road!” 

No one says anything. Bianca is still staring Alaska down. Violet though, is staring at Sharon. And Sharon, Trixie realises, is resting her hand on the small of Alaska’s back. They’re standing so close, it’s not immediately obvious, but Trixie is sure she can see Alaska relax a little, lean in to Sharon’s touch. 

Trixie looks over to Katya, but she’s still looking down, pulling at the grass with her toes. There’s a little patch where the brown earth is showing through now, where she’s ripped the grass up. The air feels thick with words bitten back. Trixie can’t help but remember now all the time Sharon’s spent in Alaska’s office, and the way that Sharon had comforted Alaska earlier that week. Trixie also remembers Alaska’s barbed comment to Katya about keeping things “professional” and she feels anger twist in her stomach. Was it jealously, or guilt at hiding whatever it is that’s between her and Sharon that made her say it? Either way, Trixie is fighting to keep her breathing deep and even and not let the adrenaline coursing through her make her say something she’ll regret. 

Bianca makes the first move. She breaks out of the circle and heads straight to the fence. Artem, always reliably politically neutral until Ginger picks a side for him, follows her and they immediately start breaking down the fence panels. 

Trixie doesn’t get a chance to talk to Katya. She’s moving the jeeps round, connecting the caravans, and rejects all offers of help. Trixie has her own jobs to do anyway. She can’t help but keep an eye on Alaska and Sharon. They are working together, loading the trucks. Alaska has tied her hair up with Sharon’s bandana, and Trixie is trying to remember if she’s done that before. She doesn’t think so. Trixie knows how strong Alaska is. She’s been loading trucks since she could walk, or not soon after, and it’s slightly nauseating to see Sharon taking the heavier equipment off her, leaving Alaska to tie down the strapping and simper sycophantically. 

Finally, Trixie shuts the door of the jeep behind her and Katya starts the engine. Her knuckles are white where she grips the steering wheel. She winds the window down with jerky movements and lights herself a cigarette, before pulling out behind Chi Chi.

Trixie isn’t sure what to say, but Jinkx beats her to it. 

“Katya, dear, Alaska didn’t talk to you about… what she said just then about new ideas, did she talk that through with you?”

“No. She didn’t.” Katya said shortly, not taking the cigarette out of her mouth. 

“My darling, I wonder, do you think you should talk to her? Trixie and I were saying, just the other day—”

Trixie cringes down into the seat and doesn’t dare look across at Katya. 

“You’ve been talking about how Alaska is freezing me out? Yes, Trixie said. I spoke to my sister already. As you can see, it went well.”

“Oh, Katya, I’m sorry.” Jinkx says quickly. “I didn’t mean… it’s hard, I know,” she falters. 

“Yeah.” Katya says, and she reaches over to turn the radio up. 

Jinkx doesn’t bring it up again. Trixie searches for something neutral to say, but she can’t think of anything. She can’t stop thinking about Alaska leaning into Sharon’s touch, and Alaska’s sneer, “you want to be careful, Yekaterina.”

They drive on. It’s hot in the car, even with the windows open. The AC hasn’t worked properly for weeks and the leather seats are sticking to the backs of Trixie’s thighs. She wishes she’d worn something longer than this skater skirt, even if she knows she looks cute. She’s almost sure she saw Katya checking her out this morning, when she’d skipped over to greet her, arms swinging comically and her skirt flying up dangerously. She’s almost sure, but more importantly, she knows deep down that when she picked the skirt out this morning, she’d thought about Katya liking it. And Trixie loves being right about things, but this has the potential to get complicated. She sneaks a look sideways at Katya. She’s wearing a ridiculous oversized baseball cap and her hair is in low bunches that still manage to be lopsided. She’s chewing gum, tapping her fingers on the wheel in time to the radio. Every time she reaches to shift gear, Trixie feels like she gets a static shock, her thigh is so close to Katya’s hand. She indulges herself in a little daydream of Katya resting her hand on Trixie’s leg as she drives, playing with the hem of her skirt. Trixie shifts in the seat. Her thighs are sticking together with sweat and there’s sweat on Katya’s top lip, she can see it, there’re so close to each other. 

The wind through the window is loud but the radio is playing the same songs it plays every Sunday afternoon so Trixie barely needs to hear them. The roads are busy, but Katya looks at ease, keeping her speed steady. Trixie knows that she loves driving. Katya feels at home on every inch of road on their circuit. She’s got anecdotes about every other diner they stop at, faith that every new one will welcome her like long lost daughter. And fuck, but that confidence is a turn on.

“Trixie?”

“Huh?”

Katya chuckles as Trixie turns to her. “Wow, you were really far away then. What you thinking about, Barbie?”

You and your hand on my thigh while you drive. You and your gum and your big teeth that are so stupidly white. You pulling over and reaching for me, kissing me—

“Nothing, just, fuck it’s hot.”

“Wow, I’m sure glad you’re here. You’re a conversational gold mine!”

“Just call me Weather Girl Barbie,” Trixie grins. 

“Feeling your fantasy, bitch!”

“You know, when I was little, I used to think the weather girl on TV must be the most famous person in America, because she was on everyone’s TV? I used to tell people that’s what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

Katya laughs with delight and Jinkx stirs in her sleep.

“That, and I thought the little matching twin set with the pencil skirt was sexy.”

“Your first crush was a weather girl? This is brilliant, Trix, you’re brilliant.”

“Like you ever watched TV! She was glamourous! She had the biggest smile, all these white teeth and red lips and… and she wasn’t my first crush, thank you! My first crush was Miss. Carr in kindergarten and she will always have a place in my heart.” Trixie finishes in a rush.

“Of course, you had a crush on your teacher! Of course, you did, Trixie Mattel, you’re about the cutest thing I ever met.”

Trixie grins. The danger seems to have passed. “Who was your first crush?”

“Oh, when I was about seven, we had a duo from France come work a season with us. They were husband and wife, but she was gorgeous, Trixie. Oh, she had this long, long hair that she would sit backstage and brush. And I would be there, about a hundred and ten percent convinced that I was going to break my neck and bring shame on my family as soon as I stepped out into the ring. But I just used to watch her, brushing that hair, plaiting it, brushing out again, and it used to make me feel so calm and happy. I cried for days when they left. I didn’t know then, of course, what it was. But I think that was my first crush.”

“Oh, Katya, that’s so sweet.”

Katya smiles, and Trixie can almost see the woman in front of her, dark hair cascading over her shoulder and across her chest. 

“Is that why you smoke like a chimney? Too much French influence at a young age?”

Katya smacks the wheel as she splutters with laughter and indignation. “You… you… rotten hussy! You leave my childhood memories alone! I’ll have you know that Brigette never, would never, how dare you!”

“I’ll take that as a yes then. I bet she looked ever so sexy.”

“Fuck yeah, she did. But you know I learnt to smoke from Artem? Ginger would be furious if she ever found out, so don’t you dare tell her. I think he taught me to keep me from rebelling in ways my parents would have found harder to forgive.” 

“Yeah?” Trixie asks. 

“Oh, just your typical teenage stuff. When I was sixteen, I used to pack a bag every other week, threaten to hitchhike to San Francisco. Fuck knows what I would have done there! Just another tortured baby lesbian with parents that don’t understand her and a perfect younger sister who can’t put a foot wrong.”

“Lesbian sister,” Trixie adds, without really thinking.

“Well, yeah. She is now. Copycat.”

Trixie waits. She doesn’t want to be the one to mention Alaska and Sharon, but they’re so close to it. Maybe Katya didn’t notice anything, she was staring at the ground the whole time. She’s just watching the road now, pulling out around a slow truck. 

“I wish I’d had a sibling I could talk to about my sexuality,” Trixie says, after what seems like miles but can only have been a couple of minutes. “I always felt like such a fraud.”

“You’re not a fraud!” Katya says quickly. “You moved in with your last girlfriend, honey. How much gayer do you wanna be?”

“You know what I mean,” Trixie answers. “And when I came out to you…”

“Oh don’t!” Katya cries. “Not my finest moment.”

Trixie affects an obnoxious, nasal voice, flapping her hands in a crude impression of Katya’s flails of laughter. “Oh, so you don’t know what direction your life is going in, so you’ve run away to join the circus and now you’re experimenting with your sexuality because you don’t know if you like dick or pussy? Are any other commitments you’re afraid of? Do you know if you take milk in your coffee?”

Katya is shaking her head, her cheeks are red. “That’s not what I said!”

“It is fully what you said.”

“Ok, maybe it was something like that. I’m sorry!”

Trixie laughs, reaches over and pokes Katya in the side. “I know, I know.”

“God, I was so embarrassed after that. I thought you hated me.”

“I did, but only for like, a day or two.”

They both laugh together. Trixie watches the creases around Katya’s eyes. That night, three years ago, Katya had seemed totally immune to Trixie’s clumsy attempts at flirting. Now, they’re so comfortable with each other, Trixie doesn’t know how she’d even make another attempt. 

They arrive not long after, and Trixie peels herself from the seat and jumps down from the jeep. The site is busy, a fairground is obviously late leaving and there’s low level traffic chaos as massive trucks with Ferris wheels and dodgems on the back of them try and back out onto the busy road. They definitely won’t be setting up for a while yet, and Trixie is hoping to convince Katya to come find a store that will sell them a cold drink, when she sees Violet jump out of Chi Chi’s jeep and stride across to them. She looks purposeful. 

“We need to talk.”

Katya slams the door of the jeep behind her and tucks the keys into her jean shorts pocket. “About what?”

“Did you know?”

“You’re being awfully vague and mysterious, Vi.”

“Did you know your sister was fucking Sharon?”

Katya’s eyebrows fly up and she chokes out a laugh. 

“Wow. Ok, no, I didn’t. Is she?” 

“Come on,” Violet deadpans. “Something is going on. Were you not there this morning?”

Katya shrugs. 

“Well?” Violet is impatient. “What are you going to do about it?”

Katya shrugs again. “Nothing.”

Violet’s mouth is hanging open in a distinctly un-Violet-like way. 

“Nothing?” she repeats, incredulous. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

Violet reaches for Katya, puts her long, elegant fingers on each side of her face. 

“Katya! Sometimes, I swear… after what she said to Trixie, after what you told me, after everything you know about how gross Sharon is… fuck, I despair!” 

She throws her hands up and turns to go, then turns back. A tiny pink spot has appeared on each of Violet’s cheeks, even this wound up, she’s beautifully symmetrical.

“Katya, I love you, you’re like a sister to me, but honestly, if you don’t wake the fuck up and get your act together. This is not what Vavara would have— she wouldn’t be letting this happen!”

“What happen?” Katya has her hands in her pockets, she’s slouching. Trixie’s not even sure she’s looking Violet in the eye. 

“Things aren’t right. I’ve got a bad feeling, the circus, I mean, everything feels…” Violet trails off, looking embarrassed. No one says anything. Violet tosses her head, sends her ponytail swinging. “Ugh, I don’t even know anymore.”

Katya looks helplessly on as Violet turns on her heel and walks back across the field. She looks a bit lost, Trixie thinks. The site is still busy, there isn’t even enough space to properly unhitch the caravans. It’s hot, there’s no shade and Trixie can’t bear the idea of sitting in the jeep, just killing time. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests, and Katya turns to her with surprise, like she’s forgotten she was there. 

“A walk?” she echoes. 

“I’ll buy you a coke,” Trixie reaches for her hand and Katya gives it, letting Trixie pull her in.

Trixie leads them out past the queue of trucks and they make a dash for it across the road. Katya is still holding tight to Trixie’s hand. Trixie is trying not to think about it. She manages to get her sunglasses out of her shoulder bag with one hand so she doesn’t need to let go and almost pokes herself in the eye putting them on. They walk a couple of blocks. It feels good to walk, to not have anywhere particular to be, but to be able to stretch out after the drive. Katya is swinging their hands a little and Trixie risks looking over to her. Her baseball cap is perched high on her head and she looks more relaxed. 

“Look at that yard, Trix! That is amazing, amazing, amazing! Let’s cross!” Katya is pointing across the road at a house with an impressive family of scarecrows lined up in the yard. There are two larger ones and a whole sea of smaller ones, lined up in height order, all dressed differently. Everyone has a hat and some of them even hold props. One has a tennis racket and another, an umbrella. 

“Oh wow,” Trixie mutters. “This is some creepy shit.”

“I think they’re delightful,” laughs Katya. 

“You would,” Trixie bumps Katya’s hip with her own as they cross the road to get a closer look. “I bet you’d love a little scarecrow circus family, all loaded on the back of one of the trucks. 

“They’d match my voodoo dolls perfectly,” Katya deadpans, then crows with laughter at her own joke. 

“They’d shed something dreadful. Violet wouldn’t stand for the mess.”

“She wouldn’t,” Katya agrees sadly. 

They walk on and find a coffee shop on the next corner. It’s got little tables outside and a striped awning. Trixie buys them two cokes, with lots of ice and lemon in tall glasses and they sit at the table furthest from the door in the shade from the awning. Trixie swirls her straw in the ice, letting it clink against the glass. 

“Do you think Violet is right?” Katya says suddenly, like they’re right in the middle of talking about it. 

“About Alaska and Sharon? Yeah, I do.”

Katya hums and takes another long drink. Trixie desperately wants to know what Katya thinks about it, but Katya doesn’t say anything else. Trixie wonders if Katya ever thinks about that night around the fire. She had looked so relieved when Trixie had said she wouldn’t sleep with Katya even if she was “the last person on earth.” Does Katya remember that? 

On the walk back, they don’t hold hands again. Trixie deliberately hangs her bag over her other shoulder and walks in step with Katya, almost lets their hands brush. But Katya doesn’t take her hand, she’s reaching in her bra for a lighter, and then they’re walking and it’s too late to make it feel natural. They pay a goodbye visit to the family of scarecrows and Trixie manages to convince Katya not to swap her baseball cap with the wide brimmed sunhat the tallest of the scarecrows is wearing. 

***

That night, Trixie can’t sleep. There’s no real reason why. The site is peaceful, Jinkx is breathing steadily from her bunk but there’s no other noise. Their caravan is on the far side of the field, not next to the road, and apart from the occasional scuffle of some unidentified wildlife, it’s quiet. Trixie is tired. After their walk into town and then the hard work of putting up the big top in the sun, her muscles are aching pleasantly and her shoulders tingle with sunburn. But she’s been lying on her back, staring into the dark at the ceiling for what seems like hours. The curtains are closed tight around her bunk and it’s still hot, so Trixie is only wearing her pyjama shorts. Every time she turns over restlessly, trying to get comfortable, her nipples brush against the sheets. It’s making them sensitive, the sensation making warmth pool in the bottom of her stomach. It makes the rest of her skin feel more sensitive too, her legs, where she’s not shaved in a week or so, feel prickly against the sheets now. As she turns again, her shorts twist uncomfortably, but then the pressure between her legs feels good and she rocks her hips into it. 

Apart from a couple of hurried, anxious times in the shower, Trixie hasn’t touched herself since Hannah used to leave her in the apartment all day. Then, she’d have hours to kill before Hannah would get home from work. She’d have a long shower, moisturise all over with her rose body butter and lie back on the pillows, indulging herself with intricate fantasises. Trixie’s tastes in bed aren’t particularly adventurous, she doesn’t think, but she knows she likes sex. She likes kissing; she likes when her mouth gets swollen and her breath catches when her partner runs their hands through her hair. She likes how sensitive her breasts get, and how when she sleeps with a woman, her nipples are nearly always harder. She likes the build up too, feeling excited but shy, and then suddenly breaking through it, being on top or moaning without even thinking about being overheard. 

Maybe an orgasm would help her sleep, she reasons. She shifts her hips, pulling at her shorts until they’re more comfortable and casts around for something to think about. She reaches up, pinches her nipple and lets her thumb flick over it. They feel hard and tight. She thinks about Hannah, on her stomach between Trixie’s thighs, kissing her way up. She remembers how Hannah would look up at her from under her dark lashes and lick her lips, shining with Trixie’s wetness. Hannah’s mouth was so warm and she would suck and kiss at Trixie for what felt like hours, until Trixie was moaning for her tongue on her clit. Trixie doesn’t tease herself now, she dips her fingers into her growing wetness and drags it up to her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. Hannah loved to tease, loved to keep Trixie on the edge, especially loved when she couldn’t keep her hips still and Hannah could dig her fingers into her thighs, trying to keep her from bucking up into her mouth. 

Trixie closes her eyes as the Hannah in her mind pushes her legs wider, bites into the softest, fleshiest part of her thigh and laughs as Trixie rocks her hips. She keeps up her slow circling, using two fingers and rubbing across the top of her clit. She can feel herself getting more swollen. She used to come so hard against Hannah’s mouth, she’d cry out and Hannah would shush her with a smile. She imagines Hannah licking the same pattern that her fingers are rubbing, closes her eyes and feels herself getting close. Katya would moan into her and – 

Fuck. 

Trixie’s fingers freeze over her hot cunt. Not Katya. She is not thinking about Katya. It’s weird enough to be touching herself thinking about her ex. But she can’t stop now, she can feel her heartbeat throbbing onto the tips of her fingers where they’re pressed into her. 

Trixie rolls over onto her stomach and shoves her shorts down her thighs. She pushes any thoughts of Katya out of her mind. She’s got a go to fantasy that always works. She screws her eyes tight and thinks about the tight, shiny black catsuit Lucy Liu wore in Charlie’s Angels. She can replay the scene where she struts through the lab, when she’s staring straight ahead with her red lipstick and her glasses, completely from memory. She imagines Lucy, with her deep cleavage and her long hair streaming behind her, walking straight to her. She’d kiss her, with her hands firmly in Trixie’s hair, not caring how Trixie moaned. She’d turn her around, bend her over the desk and exclaim at how wet she was. Trixie dips her fingers into her wetness again, slips them inside herself just a little, imaging Lucy doing the same. She lets out a tiny, breathy moan before she catches herself. She imagines Lucy fucking her, but she can’t get the angle lying on her stomach, so she switches back to her clit. She rubs in faster circles now, chasing her orgasm, thinking of that catsuit and of Lucy standing tall over her and of her red lips. And then she’s coming, and it’s just Katya. Katya’s fingers in her mouth. Katya against the firelight, throwing her head back with laughter. Katya warming up before a show, her hard nipples pressing against her leotard as she bends backwards. Katya, spread out underneath her, lifting her hips, letting Trixie taste her. 

Trixie presses her face into the pillow. Sweat is cooling on her back and on her forehead, she can feel where it’s sticking to her hair. Her legs feel heavy and her pussy is pulsing gently. She keeps her eyes closed and reaches behind her to tug her shorts up and pull the sheet over her. She falls asleep quickly, thinking of Katya and Lucy stroking her hair, their red lips smiling. 

***

The next morning, Trixie tries hard not to feel guilty. It’s just a crush, she reasons with herself. People get crushes on their friends all the time; as long as she doesn’t do anything stupid, Katya never needs to know about it. She doesn’t have much time to dwell over it, because Sharon has called her to rehearse the new trick that Alaska has asked for. They haven’t even performed the one they’ve been working on, the one in the dark with the fancy lighting. Trixie would be annoyed that her hard work wasn’t going to end up in the show, but Sharon is such a control freak that she’s barely had any input into it anyway. 

After breakfast, Trixie heads over to the big top, leaving Katya and Chi Chi outside the caravans, working out a new routine with long fire staffs that they twirl and toss to each other, adding in flips and somersaults. It’s going to be really exciting and Trixie can’t wait to see it. Sharon is waiting for her with a long piece of red silk in her hands.

“Morning,” she says, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” Sharon replies, and Trixie raises one eyebrow. Surely even Sharon isn’t gross enough to flirt inappropriately with her now she’s so blatantly sleeping with Trixie’s boss? Sharon doesn’t react to Trixie’s disapproving look, just smiles with one side of her mouth, so it’s more like a sneer.

“What’s this new trick then?” Trixie asks, keen to get the rehearsal over with as quickly as possible. 

Sharon runs the red silk through her fingers with a flourish. 

“It’s a William Tell trick.”

“But you don’t use a bow?” Trixie knows she’s being blunt. 

Sharon huffs with impatience. “No, obviously. I’ll use my short throwing knives. You’ll have an apple in each hand, that I’ll land each knife in. No board or ties, really stripped back and simple.”

“Ok,” Trixie doesn’t think it sounds all that thrilling. 

“And you’ll be blindfolded,” Sharon smiles, as though this is some great treat.

“Blindfolded?” Trixie repeats. 

“Jesus, Mattel, engage your brain, can’t you? Yes, blindfolded. And we think a costume change, something a bit more peasanty, to compliment the apples.”

Trixie is so stupefied by the idea of having knives thrown at her while she is blindfolded that the ridiculousness of complementing an apple with her costume almost passes her by. Almost. 

“Sharon… I… How is that going to work? If we can’t keep eye contact, how are you going to know that I’m ready? You always say—”

“If anything, this is going to make your job easier, Mattel sweetie. You just need to stand completely still and look a little scared and desperate, you can do that, can’t you?” 

Trixie is speechless, which is probably just as well. She doesn’t think Sharon would want to hear anything she has to say in response to that. Sharon is waiting for an answer though, so Trixie just nods, and refuses to meet her eye. 

Sharon sighs, as though she’s just had to explain something very simple to a child three times over. 

“Great. I thought we’d warm up with you blindfolded against the board, so you can get used to it. Then we’ll take the board away and we can work on you holding position without it.”

“OK, fine.” Trixie knows she sounds sullen, but she can’t bring herself to care.

The rehearsal is horrible. Sharon ties the silk tight around Trixie’s eyes and leads her across to the practice board. It’s solid and unpainted and has the most straps and lock off positions, so that they can rehearse all the different trick positions on it. Trixie stands with her hands raised at each side, as though she’s holding two trays of champagne, and Sharon straps her arms against the board with thick leather straps. She pulls each strap tight, catching the soft skin of her forearm in the buckle, making her squirm. 

“Whoops! Sorry, sweetheart.” She takes every opportunity to brush her fingers along Trixie’s skin, startling her so she curses under her breath. Sharon chuckles next to her ear. 

“You’re jumpy like this, Trixie. I kinda like it.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re creepy, Sharon?” Trixie bites out. 

“All the time,” Sharon replies, not sounding the least bit apologetic. 

Trixie can already feel that it’s going to be an uncomfortable position to hold, even with the thick straps taking the weight of her arms. She’s going to need to build up some strength if she’s going to hold it for very long. 

The knives make a wet, slicing sort of sound as they sink deep into the apples that Sharon places in her hands. More often than not, the impact makes Trixie release the apple, so it falls to the floor with a dull thud. Sharon wants her to hold them, so the audience don’t suspect any trickery, but without knowing when the knives are coming, Trixie finds it hard. She’s so tense, her fingers grip rigidly around the apples’ smooth skin. That tension means her fingers spasm when the knife hits and she also knocks her head painfully against the board. 

“Relax!” Sharon hisses, and Trixie hears her stalk towards her before the apples are placed in her hands again. “You need to stop gripping them like they’re all you own in the world and remember to breathe. Come on, Mattel, I want to get this right.”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Trixie can feel tears prickling against the silk blindfold. She forces herself to breath out slowly, until her lungs are empty. She tries, as far as is possible against the rough wood and leather, to soften her stance and let her weight centre itself. She takes a deep, steady breath. 

“Ok, let’s try again,” and she’s proud that her voice doesn’t betray her own frustration with herself. 

“That’s my girl,” Sharon says, before Trixie hears her turn and walk back across the ring to throw again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobic language. 
> 
> Laughingly overdue, but I really enjoyed finishing this chapter up after having it half written for weeks and weeks.   
> Got some solid ideas about what's going to happen next as well, so who knows, maybe Chapter 8 before Christmas! ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for sticking around so long! <3

“But really, truly, you’re gonna be blindfolded?” Katya’s fork is hanging forgotten in her limp fingers, as she stares at Trixie. 

“Yup,” Trixie nods, and takes another bite of bread. 

“But, I mean, Trix, that doesn’t sound safe at all! How are you going to see the knives coming?”

“Well I won’t, will I, Einstein? That’s sort of the point.”

“But—”

“I mean, it’s not like I can do much about it when I’m on the board anyway,” Trixie continues. “This won’t be that different. I just need to not move once she’s given me the apples, how hard can it be?”

“I think you’re crazy,” Adore says, from across the table. “I mean, I thought you were crazy before, don’t get me wrong. Letting Sharon throw knives at you in any circumstances is batshit, but this is special, even for her.”

“Well, thank you all for your support,” Trixie says, dryly. 

“Jinkx!” Katya appeals, “come on, this is crazy right?”

Jinkx looks up from her salad and meets Trixie’s eyes. 

“I think Trixie looks like she’s done talking about this,” she says, with the air of a friendly, yet firm, kindergarten teacher. Katya gapes at her, then when Trixie doesn’t speak, shrugs in surrender. Talk shifts to speculation over what sort of audiences they will have this week; it’s a new town that the circus hasn’t visited before. 

It’s a small place, probably only home to a few thousand people. They’re set up on some empty land just outside the town. When they drove through, it seemed pretty similar to most of the places they’d been over the last month. Yellow and white clapboard houses, no sidewalks and the stars and stripes flying over every other doorway. They’re over five-hundred miles from the tiny town Trixie rode the bus to everyday for school, and yet they might as well be in the town next door. The more she sees of America, the more she wonders if anywhere will ever feel more like home than the four walls of her caravan. The idea sits uncomfortably. Surely finding her home should make her feel more settled, not less. 

Trixie is grateful for the change of conversation. Truthfully, she’s nervous and angry. Sharon wants to perform the new trick at their next town, which only gives them the rest of the week to rehearse. Not that Trixie has all that much to rehearse, she thinks bitterly to herself. As the summer goes on, she feels like she’s making even fewer creative decisions. Sharon wants to use the new apple trick in place of the longer juggling section that they’ve been working on for weeks and only just inserted into the act. As well as being slightly terrified by the prospect of being blindfolded and unrestrained while knives are thrown at her hands, she’s frustrated that the pageantry of the blindfold will restrict her communication with the audience. Trixie’s relationship with them is what makes their act one of the most popular and exciting. Really, without that, she might as well just be a mannequin in a pretty costume. 

***

The week passes interminably slowly. Sharon wants to rehearse every day, but she never tells Trixie when, preferring to corner her at breakfast and dictate the day to her then. It’s not like Trixie would go offsite, or even has much else to do, but she hates feeling beholden to Sharon’s whims. Sharon is full of how she’s helping Alaska with important circus matters, which absolutely have to take priority, as though Trixie is too stupid to realise now that they’ve probably been fucking in Alaska’s office all this time. 

Katya never seems to be around. She’s started joining Chi Chi on her morning runs. They run offsite, for what seems like hours, and Trixie is normally stuck in rehearsal by the time they get back. Even when they do spend time together, Katya is withdrawn, citing tiredness and barely says a word. She just smokes and stretches and smokes. Trixie is trying not to take it personally, but it’s hard. She doesn’t let herself have any more fantasies about Katya. There’s no point in encouraging her subconscious when Katya quite obviously has zero interest in anything but friendship. 

On Thursday morning, Sharon tells Trixie imperiously that she needs to drive Alaska into the city for an important meeting. Trixie wants to ask why she can’t drive herself but manages to just nod. It’s been weeks since she’s been anywhere you could call metropolitan, but nothing Indianapolis has to offer could tempt her to spend a couple of hours alone in the car with the two of them. Sharon stalks away, and Trixie heads over to the benches where most of the company are finishing breakfast. She’s already eaten, but she settles herself next to Jinkx and pours herself a tea from the pot in the middle of the table. She’s excited about a day free of Sharon’s cold patronising and is just about to ask Jinkx what she has planned when Adore screeches from the shower block so loudly, Trixie is sure that it’s got to be another spider incident. 

“Fuuuuuuck!” Adore bangs open the door of the little self-contained trailer, wrapped in a bright blue towel with her hair dripping wet. 

“Who’s turned off the generator? Where’s my hot water, you assholes?”

Violet and Jinkx are trying to control their laughter. Ginger is making no such effort; her booming belly laugh is unmistakable behind them. Artem jumps up from where’re they’d been sat reading the morning paper and disappears behind Ginger’s truck to where the generators are fenced off. 

Adore stomps her way across the field, flip flops slapping in the long grass. 

“Quit laughing at me,” she whines. “My hair is going to hate me if I don’t wash this conditioner out.”

“I’m sure Artem will have it up and running again in no time,” Jinkx placates her. “Have some green tea to keep warm.”

“Will he fuck! Last time it took him hours!” Adore collapses dramatically onto the bench next to Jinkx and takes the mug of tea she offers. Her hair is thick with conditioner that hasn’t washed out and there are streaks of eyeliner down her face that look more clownlike than her stage makeup. 

“He does his best,” Ginger says sharply. “It’s not his fault, he’s been telling Alaska for a year that those generators need replacing.”

Adore pouts but doesn’t argue. 

“You know, if you took your make up off properly after every show then you’d have at least fifty-percent fewer problems right now.” Violet says casually. 

“Vi, don’t be mean! Jinkxy, tell her not to be so mean!”

Before Jinkx can reply, Artem slinks sheepishly around the side of the truck. 

“I’m sorry ladies, it’s going to be a while before there’s any hot water. I’m going to have to go into to town to get a new set of fuses.”

“Artem! You make sure you get the money back from Alaska.” Ginger’s voice is stern. 

“What’s up, why is everyone looking so serious? And why is Adore dressed as a sad mermaid?” 

Katya and Chi Chi are back from their run. Katya is bright red in the face, and panting. She’s wearing shorts and a sports bra, leaving her toned stomach, heaving with every breath, right in Trixie’s eyeline across the table. Beads of sweat are running down her chest. Trixie forces herself to keep her eyes on Katya’s face. 

“There’s no hot water, power’s out,” Violet answers her. 

“And my hair is going to be a disaster,” Adore glumly lifts and drops a heavy strand to demonstrate.

“Just have a cold shower, you drip,” Chi Chi is just as sweaty as Katya, but she looks less wrung out, more energised. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

“I can’t! I’ll freeze!” Adore wails.

Chi Chi rolls her eyes; she doesn’t believe in complaining. She’s standing behind Adore and Jinkx, and Trixie watches as she shrugs, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She unscrews the lid of her water bottle and tips its contents unceremoniously over Adore’s head. It’s more than half the bottle, and though it can’t be that cold, Trixie reasons, Adore still shrieks and jumps to her feet. 

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Chi Chiiiiiiiiii!!”

Everyone is laughing. Adore shakes her head, and droplets of water fly everywhere. With one hand clutching her towel around her chest, Adore pushes her hair out of her eyes, furiously. 

“Chi Chi, you are the absolute worst!” 

Chi Chi grins. “Just trying to help!”

Adore’s cheeks are pink with frustration and she frowns. She looks like a little toddler, deciding whether or not to go full nuclear reaction. But instead of losing it completely, Adore turns back to the table and reaches for the jug of water that Ginger puts out on each table every morning. With one fluid motion, she flings her arm out, soaking both Chi Chi and Katya.

There is a stunned silence for a moment, before Chi Chi swears colourfully and Katya howls with laughter. 

“Come through, Adore!” Violet crows. 

“Sorry, Katya, collateral damage,” Adore pants, though she’s smiling now. 

“Come here, you cheeky little squirt!” Chi Chi lunges at Adore’s towel, but she ducks under her arm and runs across the field towards the caravans, whooping. 

“I’m absolutely not having this,” Chi Chi is trying to sound furious, but Trixie can tell she’s delighted. “Kat, are you done with that water bottle?”

“Well, refreshing though that was, I am most definitely still dehydrated. In fact, I think I might be sweating just pure salt crystals right now, it’s very uncomfortable—” Chi Chi doesn’t wait for Katya to finish. She grabs the bottle from her and takes off across the field after Adore. Violet stands on the bench for a better view. 

Katya sinks down onto the bench next to Trixie, and Trixie offers her the rest of her tea. 

“Thirsty?”

“Oh, bitch. You have no idea.” Katya downs the remaining tea steadily, head tipped back and eyes closed. She lets the mug clunk onto the table top and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “She’s unstoppable, you know,” she gestures with a limp arm across to where Chi Chi is now chasing Adore around the big top. “You’d think that running eight miles already this morning would slow her down, but it’s just made her hungrier for the chase.”

She’s right. While Adore had the benefit of a head start and fresh legs, Chi Chi has seemingly endless energy. When they round the big top and start back towards them, Adore has lost nearly all of her lead. She’s not helped by her flapping towel and flipflops.

“Help me, she’s a mad woman. Jinxky! Trixie!”

Jinkx smiles serenely and makes no effort to get up. 

“Katya, cut her off, don’t let her get past you!” Chi Chi calls, and Katya hauls herself to her feet with a groan and clambers over the bench.

“My legs have seized up,” she moans, “I’m compromised!”

“Trixie! Come on, be a good citizen!” Adore shouts and, without thinking, Trixie shoots her arm out and grabs the elasticated waistband of Katya’s shorts. Katya jerks back into her, her back is still wet with sweat against Trixie’s knuckles. 

“Yes, bitch!” Adore is triumphant.

“Judas!” Katya tries to twist away but now she’s got involved, Trixie refuses to let go. Katya’s legs are strong, and she’s bracing her thighs, pulling Trixie up and into her. The bench tips back as Trixie is pulled to her feet and Katya catches her fall, laughing into her hair. Katya smells like deodorant, and fresh sweat, and stale smoke. Her bra is still wet through from Adore’s jug of water and Trixie can feel the water seeping into the front of her cotton dress. Sure enough, when she pulls away, the light pink fabric is dark, and her nipples are clearly visible. 

“You’re disgusting, you sweaty swamp monster! Look what you’ve done to me!”

Katya grips her by the shoulders, tilting her head and assessing her with her eyes dancing mischievously. 

“I have to say, I think it’s an improvement.”

Trixie screeches with laughter. “You rotten, rotten hag!”

Katya is grinning, she looks so alive. She tosses her hair. It’s a frizzy mess and her bangs are stuck to her forehead with sweat. “Why thank you kindly, Miss. Mattel. I do try!”

“You try my patience, more like.”

“Someone’s got to keep you on your toes,” Katya shrugs, with a sunny smile.

“Zamo, look alive!” 

Katya turns in the direction of Chi Chi’s shout, and then jumps, hands high in the air to catch Adore’s flipflop as Chi Chi sends it flying towards her. 

“Katyaaaaaa!”

Adore is still using one hand to keep her towel around her chest. She’s lost both flipflops, Trixie can’t see where the other one has got to. Katya looks for a moment like she might take pity on Adore, but then Chi Chi calls across to her and she can’t help herself. She waves the flipflop tantalisingly over at Adore, before lobbing it back to Chi Chi over Adore’s head. Adore gives a cry of frustration as she whips round to face Chi Chi. Chi Chi’s knees are bent, she’s swaying slightly from side to side, as though to show Adore she’s ready to take off again at a moment’s notice. 

“I’m going to end you, Chi Chi,” Adore says through gritted teeth. 

Chi Chi lets out a glorious bark of a laugh and throws Adore’s flipflop straight up into the sky. She throws herself into a back flip, landing light as a feather on her toes, just in time to catch it and wink. 

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s find you some hot water. Ginger?”

Ginger heaves herself to her feet and shrugs. 

“If you kids want to waste the little gas I have left to heat some water, you go right ahead. But I’m not carrying it, and I sure as hell won’t be here for no complaints later.”

“Don’t worry about it, ma’am,” Chi Chi, always could charm Ginger when it was needed. “I’m sure Artem will have everything up and running again by curtain up.”

Chi Chi is almost right. Artem does find a new fuse in town, and get power back to the site, but not before Trixie has to do her make up outside, with Katya’s mirror propped up against the side of the caravan so she can get enough light. By the time the audience start streaming through the gate, the coloured lamps strung along the walkways are glowing, and the candy floss machine is spinning its pretty pink bouquets for sticky fingers to grab at. 

The audience is a big one, but oddly subdued. There’s more rustling, less chatter as they take their seats and Trixie waits backstage. Earlier shows in the week had gone well, though with smaller audiences. Trixie wonders what makes this crowd different. She hears Sharon come up behind her, and before she can turn, there’s a hand on her waist. Sharon pulls her in close, so she can talk into her ear. 

“Did you miss me today, Trixie? I hope you found the time practice without me?”

“How am I supposed to do that? Just throw knives in the air and run around trying to dodge them?” Trixie whispers back, twisting to get out of her grip and face her. 

“No need for sarcasm, sweetie. Besides, wouldn’t it be more like, throw knives in the air and stay really still, trusting they won’t hit you?”

Trixie can’t help herself. She screws her face up like a child, lets out a sharp breath through her nose. It’s all she can do not to stamp her foot in annoyance. Luckily, before Sharon can goad her further, the music filling the big top changes. Trixie spins on her heel towards the gap in the curtains, and takes her routine, calming breaths before Jinkx is beside her and they are running into the ring. 

Right from the start, something feels off. Adore totally loses her place in the opening number, and Bianca has to improvise a solo juggling skit to cover the mistake. Backstage, Adore is furious with herself, and won’t stop whispering apologies, even after Bianca tells her sharply not to fuss. The audience applause feels muted. It’s there, on every beat it should be, little ripples of polite applause, but there’s no joy in it. Trixie watches Katya and Chi Chi through a gap in the curtains. They are perfect. Strong and quick and exactly in sync. Their sparkled costumes glitter under the lights, and the whole tent seems to vibrate with the thrum of the bass. But both of their mouths are set in grim lines as they throw themselves around the ring, and the beaming smiles they turn on for their final flourish don’t reach their eyes. 

There’s no time to ask why. Even as they tumble through the curtain, breathing heavily, Alaska is announcing them, and Sharon’s hand is tight around her wrist, almost pulling her out into the ring. Trixie speeds up so she doesn’t trip. The music is blaring to cover their entrance, Trixie is sure Artem has upped the volume, perhaps to try and inject some life into the crowd. The lights shining in her eyes stop her from seeing anything much beyond the edge of the ring, they always do. Just shapes, and the movement of shuffling children against the heat, and then the endless black, beyond the lights, up into the roof. 

Trixie rolls her shoulders back and down and lets her gaze focus on Sharon. She looks extraordinary. With the lights behind her, and the sharp focus of the spotlight picking her out, she looks likes she’s moving through her own dimension. The black line of her lipstick is as sharp as the flick of her eyeliner. Her white blonde hair is slicked back, curling slightly behind her ear. As she turns on her heel, brandishing her knives for Trixie to swoon at the sight of, as she does every night, her coattails spin out behind her. She is undeniably sexual, all raw power and danger and control. Trixie lets her hand twirl through her hair as she brings it down past her face and bites on her lip in trepidation. Though the faux-flirting is so exaggerated, she can’t help but feel a girlish thrill when Sharon leans in to her and backs her up against the painted spinning board. The music has stripped back, long drawn out violin and quick, rhythmic drums have replaced Katya and Chi Chi’s rousing bass. The crowd are quiet, but that’s how them want them, tense and waiting. Sharon strokes Trixie’s hair, almost tenderly, before pulling sharply on the leather restraints to tighten them around her wrists. Trixie gasps, using her sharp intake of breath to push her chest up to meet Sharon’s, and then – 

“So, is this some sort of dyke show? I thought this was a family circus?” 

It’s a man’s voice. It rings out across the quiet tent, seems to bounce off the canvas walls back at Trixie. Sharon is pressed against her, Trixie can feel her breath on her cheek. She looks in the direction of where she thinks the voice came from, but the lights are too bright, and Sharon is blocking her view. 

There’s a horrible drawn out quiet. The music that normally holds the audience in suspense feels like a thin layer pasted over silent dissent. 

Sharon steps back from her, finally. She meets Trixie’s eyes for a second, and Trixie nods. She’s fine, what else is there to do but carry on?

The first round of knives land in perfect formation around her. Sharon is quick and precise, there’s barely any time for Trixie to think. There’s a ripple of applause, and Sharon bows flamboyantly. She’s over-compensating, and it makes Trixie nervous. Sharon struts across the ring to her and pulls each knife out sharply. 

“Well, that’s no way to treat your woman,” it’s a different voice. Younger. Jeering. There’s laughter this time. It ripples around the benches. People are shifting in their seats. The lights are hotter than they’ve ever been before. Trixie is sweating; she can feel it wet against her back where she’s pressed against the wheel. 

Sharon is pacing, turning the last knife over and over through her fingers, as though she’s working out her next move. Trixie just wants the ground to swallow her up. She tenses against the leather, testing the straps, but there’s no way she’s getting off the board without help. 

“Sharon…” her mouth is dry. She doesn’t even know what she wants to say. 

Sharon turns to her. She looks wild for a moment; her eyes are wide, and her nostrils flared. But then she winks and crosses the distance between then in two strides. She presses the cool flat of the blade under Trixie’s chin, tilts it up to her. The lights are a blinding halo around her face. Before Trixie can react, Sharon is kissing her. It’s firm, the momentum of it knocks her head back against the wood. She can’t breathe. Sharon’s eyes are open, boring into her with a fierce determination. 

In the audience, there’s more scuffling. It sounds like people getting up, leaving. 

“Disgusting!”

“Perverted.”

“Don’t look at them, sweetheart, come on, get your coat.” 

Sharon pulls away, pink glittery gloss on her perfect black lips. Trixie tries to look past her, to see into the audience, to see how many people are walking out, but Sharon still looms over her, blocking her view. Sharon grins, wolfish, before reaching out and sending the wheel spinning. 

Trixie shuts her eyes. She always does, the flashing of the lights as she spins over and over makes her feel sick. She feels every knife hit the wood, they make the board vibrate against her back. She’s sure everyone must be leaving. She imagines the wheel spinning, on and on, in an empty tent. The lights coming up on empty benches. The crowd spilling out onto the street, crowing to each other in high, sharp voices. She imagines Sharon going after them, leaving her there alone. She can’t hear properly; white noise is filling her head. She can’t hear the music, can’t count the knives like she normally does, can’t hear if there’s any applause, or shouts. It feels like it’s never going to end. 

The wheel spins slower and slower. It stops with a jerk, and Trixie opens her eyes. The white noise fades away, and she can hear the applause and whoops. It’s not nearly as loud as usual, but it sounds friendly. Sharon is there, as always, her knuckles white around the spoke. She’s caught it perfectly, Trixie is the right way up, a small mercy. As Sharon undoes the buckles, Trixie stumbles a little without their support. Sharon grips her wrist, leads her forward to curtsey. And then she’s being led off through the curtain, into the blessed darkness. 

Trixie can’t stop shaking. Alaska takes one look at her and says curtly to Sharon that there’s no way they’re doing their second act tonight. Trixie wants to argue back, but just the thought of going back out into the ring makes her feel sick, so she stays quiet. Katya sits next to her, on the floor against the canvas wall of the tent. She doesn’t talk, which Trixie is grateful for. She just holds Trixie’s hand, rubbing her thumb firmly over Trixie’s in a way that a little uncomfortable but grounding. When she goes out for her and Chi Chi’s second act, Jinkx takes her place, pulling Trixie into her chest. She’s softer, stroking Trixie’s shoulder gently, rhythmically, and Trixie misses Katya’s bony knuckles. She closes her eyes and waits for the show to end. 

They gather on the ringside benches after the last of the audience have left. Artem is the last to join them, after he’s locked the gates and done a last walk round the fence. He is grim faced and quiet, taking his place beside Ginger and wrapping his long arm around her shoulders. Trixie sits between Katya and Chi Chi, scuffing her shoes in the sawdust at her feet. She feels big and ungainly between their wiry frames, she wishes she could disappear into the darkness at the back of the tent. She can feel everyone’s pitying eyes on her and it’s awful. 

Alaska speaks first. 

“I know that must have been really difficult for everyone. Trixie, Sharon, especially for you. I’m sorry that you had to go through that and we’re all really proud of you for carrying on your performance in such horrible circumstances.”

“Who were they?” Adore interrupts, angrily.

“Well, I don’t know for sure, they didn’t exactly fill out an audience feedback form,” Alaska’s joke is weak, and she knows it. She avoids Adore’s glare and looks towards Sharon for encouragement.

“We think they were just a local church group,” Sharon says smoothly. “They obviously had an agenda, they’d probably heard about the show from neighbours who came earlier in the week. They’d already made their mind up about what they were going to see. We found leaflets outside about turning from sin and towards family values. I really don’t think we should be paying them any more attention.”

There are nods and murmurs of assent from around Trixie. Katya is silent. Her silence sits heavy in Trixie’s stomach. She remembers tears streaking down Katya’s face, her plaintive, childlike insistence in the unhappiness of the circus. She’s sure it’s irrational, but she’s starting to feel more and more responsible for Katya’s unhappiness. Perhaps the circus wasn’t happy to have her back at all. 

“Exactly right, Sharon,” Alaska says firmly. “The important thing is that we’ve got an amazing show, and you all did really well tonight. I don’t want anyone to think about those nasty, prejudiced people for a minute longer. We’ll get on the road first thing tomorrow morning and we won’t bother coming back next year, or any year soon.” 

“Definitely not,” Chi Chi snorts.

“I know that you’ve all been working really hard on new tricks and routines,” Alaska continues. “I know that’s tough going during a summer schedule, but honestly, there’s really great things coming for us. All this hard work is going to be rewarded, I promise you.”

She smiles, though it wavers a little when no one responds. 

“Let’s get an early night,” Bianca suggests heavily. “And then get the hell outta here.”

No one seems to want to leave Trixie alone. Half an hour later, she’s in her pyjamas with a cup of hot cocoa Ginger had brought her in a big flask. Katya is sat at the end of her bed, still in her costume, with one of Jinkx’s knitted shawls wrapped around her shoulders. Violet is sitting at the top of the steps, the door open so she can smoke. She’s in a black velour tracksuit, with Violet picked out in diamante across her back. Her make-up is still perfect, the butt of her cigarette stained dark purple with her lipstick. Jinkx is in bed too, her curtains pulled open. She’s knitting, rather distractedly, cursing every time she drops a stitch. 

“Do you know what Alaska meant, Kat?” Trixie asks. 

“About what, the great things that are supposedly coming for us?” 

“Well, yeah.”

“It was just her idea of a pep talk,” Violet says scathingly. 

“She sounded pretty sure of herself,” Jinkx says doubtfully, “though how she can be, I don’t know. There’s nothing in the cards that fits. It’s all a bit…” she breaks off, looking back down at her knitting.

“A bit what?” Trixie asks, though she’s not sure she wants to know the answer. 

“Tempestuous.” Jinkx answers, needles clicking.

“She went to Indianapolis today, with Sharon. That’s why I got the afternoon off rehearsal.” 

“Indianapolis?” Violet turns in the doorway, forehead creased in a frown. 

“Yeah, that’s what Sharon said. She said she had to drive her to an important meeting in the city.” 

“Well now, that is very strange indeed,” Jinkx muses. “I can’t see any reason she’d need to go into the city.” 

“Maybe it’s a permit thing? State bylaws or something?”

“It would be the first time we’d bothered about anything so mundane as permits,” Violet says. “It must be a bank thing, or something. If it even was anything to do with the circus,” she adds. 

“Maybe it was just a date, and Sharon thinks she’s being subtle,” Katya scoffs. “As if we aren’t already all deeply uncomfortable imagining the two of them with their tongues down each other’s throats.”

Trixie giggles and Violet rolls her eyes. “Gross, Kat.”

Jinkx merely hums her discontent. 

They lapse into silence again. Trixie sips at her cocoa, letting it burn her lips. She feels shaken still, and embarrassed that’s she’s still upset, even surrounded by friends in the warmth of her bed. She can still hear the sharp mocking voices. She wonders what they’re saying now, back in their own homes. What they’re saying to their children. 

“This is bullshit.” Violet spits out. 

“Vi—” 

“No, Katya, you know it is. We should never have come to this poxy town.”

“No one could have known, Violet.” Trixie tries. “I’m OK, really I am, I’m just being a baby.” 

“You’re not being a baby!” Katya says quickly, but Violet just ignores her. 

“We should know, though Trixie. If Alaska was paying attention, if she was listening, like Varvara used to listen, then we would never have come here.”

Katya looks down at her feet, twisted up in Trixie’s blankets. 

“Maybe Alaska doesn’t know how to listen,” Jinkx sighs deeply. “Her aura always has been so closed off?”

Katya makes an impatient noise. “And who’s fault is that? She doesn’t want to try.”

Trixie feels out of her depth. And yet, it makes more sense than it ever used to. 

“You know, I might go back to Europe at the end of the summer.” Violet tries to say it casually, but Trixie can see her hand shaking a little as she flicks her pointed nail against her cigarette. 

“Vi, you can’t!”

“I can, Kat. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I could get a winter residential in Germany. Maybe even at one of the big clubs in Berlin. No more draughty caravans, no more snow-soaked canvas, no more backwards, no-where towns.”

“You can’t leave,” Katya says again, sounding petulant. “You’re family. We’re a family. You belong here.” 

“I know,” Violet says, still staring out across the dark field, not looking back at Katya’s white face and wide eyes. “But I don’t think I can bear it much longer.” 

That night, after Violet has left for her own bed, and Jinkx has put away her knitting and drawn her curtains, Katya lies down next to Trixie. The sequins on her costume catch on the blankets. Trixie doesn’t know who’s comforting who. There’s only just enough space for the pair of them. Katya tucks herself into Trixie’s chest, and they sleep pressed against each other, the adrenaline of the night finally ebbing away and leaving Trixie bone-tired. When she wakes the next morning, to Jinkx’s gentle shaking of her shoulder, Katya is gone.


End file.
